Asylum
by sivvussa
Summary: Galla holds a secret fort where the dangerous and powerful are held captive. Daine has been imprisoned for six years, since the ravage of Snowsdale. The newest prisoner, the notoriously insane Hawk Mage, has been caught after years of roaming the mountains. Daine is ordered to keep the dying man alive, but his determination to escape might well destroy them both. D/N, fluff.
1. Chapter 1

Asylum

Blurb: Galla holds a secret fort where the dangerous and powerful are held captive. Daine has been imprisoned for six years, since the ravage of Snowsdale. The newest prisoner, the notoriously insane Hawk Mage, has been caught after years of roaming the mountains. Daine is ordered to keep the dying man alive, but his determination to escape might well destroy them both. D/N, fluff.

Chapter 1

There was a strange peace that usually hung around the castle. Daine didn't like it much; to her, it was the same kind of silence that happened when someone forced your head under water: the kind of silence that made it hard to breathe, to think, to live. Still, after six years living in the Gallan keep you'd think she'd be used to it. Two years as a prisoner, fair starved in the dank cells as they watched her, beat her, punished her for her crimes. Then there was another year when her every move was watched with careful eyes as they punished her for her madness. And for all those years there was the silence, always silence, both in her loneliness and inside her head. After three years it was a habit. She hardly spoke, and wasn't allowed to listen to the voices, and after three years most people barely remembered she could speak at all.

Still, she hated it. They knew she had some skill with animals, although they watched her more intently than ever when she began working in the farms and stables. They started bringing animals to her, and for the next three years her silent life began to have meaning. She looked after the animals with a gentleness she didn't feel for the humans who kept her caged, and tried not to think of Cloud, or the wolf pack. She tried to blend in, but of course she couldn't: an eighteen year old girl, wrists always wrapped in spelled silver chains, surrounded by guards and soldiers. A prisoner... no, she knew what she was. A slave. They called her that, and other words too. The bastard. The invisible waste of life, who nursed valuable warhorses back to health and never spoke. She barely heard the words any more. They didn't hurt. She made her face blank and stupid, and blocked out their words with less difficulty than silencing the voices inside her head.

So why was today so different? The silence seemed to be _waiting_. It was as if this quietness wasn't drowning, but holding its breath. Daine shook her head to clear it of such silliness, and went about her work. She was picking stones from a pony's hoof before she remembered why today felt different. Today they were bringing a new person here. A new prisoner. Daine started and cut her palm on the hoof knife, hissing between her teeth at the deep gouge. They wouldn't care, but if they knew how sharp the knife was they might not let her have it again. They already snatched it from her as soon as she was finished with it.

As she licked away the blood that seeped from her hand she let her thoughts wander. She had heard about this new prisoner, in whispers that the servants didn't think she could hear. She had heard that he was quite mad. He was almost a goblin, a story that was muttered to children to scare them into being good. For years he had haunted the mountain passes. Daine did not think that all the stories she had heard could be true, but she had listened anyway. He was a mage, a powerful man who had lost his mind. Drugged, some said, or cursed. One thing that they agreed on was that he could turn into a bird. The kitchen women insisted that he screamed like a banshee and fought off creatures in the night, whether they were dangerous immortals or helpless travellers who happened to cross the road when his mania hit. They knew him as the Hawk Mage, but they also called him _murderer, demon _and _cursed. _Sometimes there would be no stories for months, and then he would strike again. A nest of spidren would erupt into black flames, and all that was left of them was a pile of charred, twisted corpses by the time the soldiers got there. A village would sink into the ground as if it were quicksand. Rocks would roll uphill, crushing anything in their path.

If he wasn't so powerful, they would have caught him years ago. If he wasn't so clever he'd have been outwitted, but he was as good at hiding and escaping as he was at destroying things. They said he was tall. They said he was short. They said his eyes glowed red, and he drank the blood of lambs and infants. They said many things. But what was certain was that he had been caught, finally. Even Daine had been happy at that news, as much as she hated this country. It was as if someone had told the frozen nights they could no longer send biting draughts through the unglazed slits that passed for a window in her cell. A small, impossible relief that made the world seem less dismal.

It wasn't the stories that made the blood in Daine's veins run cold, or made her ignore the hot pulse of blood as it stained the stable floor. She had no patience for such stories. It was the fact that they had caught him and, against all odds, decided to bring him _here. _This place was meant to be secret, because if another country found out about Galla's secret fort, they would surely attack. This place was meant to be secure, because the soldiers never even spoke to their captives. And this place was supposed to be avoided, because if you were brought here, it meant only one thing: you were very, very dangerous.

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She was sleeping, her thin frame twisted at the nightmares of Snowsdale which always haunted her, when the clattering sound of keys unlocking her door woke her up. She shrieked, half-expecting a bandit to leap towards her, but it was one of the muscled, humourless soldiers who they mockingly called servants who was striding into her room. The girl tensed, instinctively wrapping her arms around her knees to protect herself - as if that had ever helped - but the man didn't move towards her. He scowled and picked up her clothes from the tiny shelf and threw them at her, his breath steaming in the freezing night air.

"Get dressed. They want you." He ordered. Daine blinked the last of the sleep from her eyes and obeyed, not bothering to ask him _who_ wanted her. You were beaten for asking questions. She didn't waste her breath asking the man to look away as she dressed, either. None of them ever did.

Shivering in the cold air and wishing for the hundredth time that she had a fire, she forced her frozen feet to the floor and tried to remember what shoes felt like. They didn't let you have shoes. Anything that would make it easier for you to run away was forbidden. Her toes were broken from clumsy horses hooves and nearly blue from the winter cold, but the worst thing was always the shock of cold when she had to stand up from the tiny patch of warmth that was her bed. The guard shoved her in front of him and she stumbled, still not secure on her frozen toes, and he yanked her upright by her hair with a curse. She desperately found her balance, biting her lip to stop herself from making a sound, and they left the room.

The chamber which the guard took her to was warmer, at least, and larger than her tiny cell. Rotten rushes softened the floor and she wriggled her frozen toes against them, drinking in the rare comfort before she even thought to look around. She heard the voice, though, an imperious note which held a sneer.

"This is the one?" He said. Daine didn't look up from the rushes, watching a beetle run across one of her toes. A rough hand shoved her between her shoulders, making her stumble towards the speaker. When she finally looked up there was no-one there. Well, there was a bed- the same kind of rough wooden pallet which she slept on. But it was empty. She blinked in confusion, wondering if perhaps she was to change rooms. It was unlikely. It was more likely that this was the sneering man's room, another prisoner, sure, but one with more to barter.

Some of the prisoners were more respected – more amenable, or they had friends on the outside, who could call in favours. Favours like the company of another prisoner, for example. Daine took a shuddering breath and shut her eyes, telling her mind to fly far away from this place. But nothing happened. No-one touched her, and after a moment she opened her eyes and let the room swim back into focus.

A bird roosted on the rough wool blanket, head buried under one wing. Daine bit her lip, ordering her mind not to let the voices in. They were always so much worse when she was near animals, terrifying in their friendliness. She looked around enquiringly. The speaker- the one with the sneer- was watching her. She forced her expression to be blank, stupid, but asked the question with her eyes. The sneering man obliged her with an answer.

"It's not a bird, it's a mage." He said, as if he was pointing out the obvious. Daine blinked and looked rapidly back at the hawk. It was black, too large to be a real bird, and its breath was too rapid and shallow to be healthy. _Is that... _she though, aghast, but the man was talking again.

"He's sick. It's how we caught him. We brought him back here, he woke up, he shapeshifted. Now he's your problem."

Daine gaped and took a step back from the pallet, her eyes pleading. The soldier caught her arms. She could feel new bruises starting on her arms as he squeezed with his fingertips to stop her from moving. The sneering man smiled narrowly.

"Well, I hear it's something you can, uh, relate to. Going mad, running off with the animals... forgetting what shape you're supposed to be..." his eyes wandered over her shivering body, and Daine remembered where she'd seen him before - he was the healer. The healer whose face she'd only seen dimly in those first few weeks, laughing mockingly as she fought her way through her mad fevers. He was the one whose eyes sometimes glared in her nightmares. She hugged herself and looked down. Glaring would be punished, but she let the word _hate _spin decadently through her private thoughts. They couldn't take those from her. He was still talking. "You'll nurse him back to health, back to human, and you won't rest until he's well."

She nodded, still staring at the floor. _Don't let them see you're afraid. You're not afraid the voices will come back. You're not afraid of the Hawk Mage. Don't show any weakness. Be blank. Be empty._

The stinging shock of a slap stunned her into looking up, hands fluttering to hold her cheek. Her frozen fingertips soothed the already-swelling flesh. The bird shrilled a note and looked up at the sudden noise. Daine's eyes filled with tears, but the healer was smiling when he said, "If he dies, you die."

She nodded, kept nodding because she couldn't sob out her pain, kept nodding until they left the room and the door locked behind them. As soon as the door shut she fell to the floor, clutching her dizzy head, spitting blood from her split lip onto the rushes and weeping. She wept out her fear and her pain until her sobs turned into heaving gasps for air, and it was only then that she realised that the warm, comforting weight on her shoulder, the gentle stroking of tears from her cheek, was from the long, emaciated fingers of a human hand.

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	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to Lollypops101 and FyraBerkaan for the reviews, and to the other people watching this story! I have a weekend off work so I'm trying to get as much written as possible; expect updates!

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Chapter 2

She froze. Even her mind refused to make a sound for a long time, although she couldn't stop her heart from pounding in her chest. _I am locked in a room, alone, with the Hawk Mage._ She couldn't stop the idea from spinning in her head. At any moment she expected those skeletal fingers to dig claws into her skin, to peel the flesh from her cheeks. They moved away from her face, and she could see the fingers choking the life from her throat as vividly as if it were actually happening. The hand was cold, too cold to be human. She really believed it could be a demon. She shut her eyes as the fingertips trailed down her neck, all too aware of the vulnerable veins the razor-sharp demon claws were a heartbeat's distance from. She froze, and the hand disappeared. There was no more weight on her shoulder, no alien touch. It took her a long moment to will herself to look around, but when she did there was only the bird, asleep, or at least hiding, under its wing.

She reached out to touch it, as she would any animal, and then drew her hand back. No, it wasn't really a bird. And she was fair certain it wasn't really asleep, either. She looked at it instead, seeing again the too-rapid breathing and the way its feathers were puffed up against the cold. Its feathers were dull and dusty, as if it were old rather than sick, and even though it was too big to be a normal bird, it was also starving-scrawny. She bit her lip and wondered what on earth she was supposed to do.

Well, what did she have to work with? She squared her shoulders and stood up, looking around the room. The fire in the tiny grate was struggling to stay alight, but the scuttle beside it only held a few damp pieces of wood. They would smoke and spit, and she would have to be careful if they were to last the night. Beside the scuttle was a barrel of water – one of the waterbutts that gathered rainwater from the courtyard. She dipped her fingers in to taste the sweet, fresh water with a sigh. She was only allowed a little water each day, and that was usually the leavings from boiling potatoes. It was for the same reason they had for everything: a thirsty prisoner was less likely to run away. It was human instinct to stay near water. She cupped her hands and drank the water until she felt sick, her stomach protesting at the unexpected fullness.

Next to the water was some stale bread, a little cooked meat and some cheese. It was all broken into small pieces already, as they didn't trust her with a knife. There were rags, and bandages, and a tiny clay bottle which, when she opened it, smelled like cleaning alcohol. There was the threadbare grey tunic which all the prisoners wore, marked with the insignia of the King. And there was a chain. It was gold.

She stared at the chain, an odd smile quirking at her lips. She finally understood. This was why they'd chosen her. Sure, they might respect her healing skills – even the smallest bit. But they wanted him alive, and they didn't care if she died to make that happen. Why not lock her in a room with a dangerous, insane killer? She wouldn't be able to defend herself, so she couldn't hurt him. Unlike her, he could still use his gift. Until that chain wrapped around his wrist, he would still be able to draw on his fire and burn the stone walls into ashes if he chose. They hadn't put them on him already, even when he was human shaped.

She remembered the pain, the agony, when her own chain had first been latched around her arm. It was the healer's job, the one who sneered. She remembered pleading, crying, using real words and stupidly thinking they might be listened to. _I'm sorry! _She said that one a lot, and meant it sometimes. _Who are you people?_ That one never had an answer, not even a single person's name. And _Why are you doing this to me? _didn't deserve an answer. She already knew.

When the door had opened she'd had to shield her eyes against the bright candlelight, after so many months in the dungeon. She'd been raving, angry, furious and yet childish in her rage. They had let her scream until her throat bled, and then she had begun to sleep the dark sleep of the hopeless. They were never going to let her out. The healer's eyes were gleaming yellow in the flame, and she didn't even see the chain until he had looped it around the wasted muscles of her arm and snapped it shut. _Then _she had noticed. The sensation of having her ears suddenly shut up, of being blind and deaf and mute all at once, flooded over her, and she screamed in terror. Then the pain- from her heart, from the core of her, a heat which grew to scalding, tearing pitches and tore through her flesh mercilessly. Her fingertips blistered, her skin dried and cracked, and when she writhed on the cell floor her hair was left behind in singed coils. It was agony, far worse than any beating she'd had before or since, and it seemed to last forever. Forever, a fever of burning torture lit by the yellow light in those sneering eyes...

...she had woken up in the room that was now her own, several weeks later, with no memory of time passing, and with the silence echoing in her head. Her magic was gone. She had reached up to feel the soft strands of new hair, already a few centimetres long against her aching scalp, and the chain had clinked against her ear. It was a thin chain, looped twice around her left wrist and then crossing the back of her hand in two lines. Tiny circlets had been fused around her first and third fingers, and the chain was connected to the rings by artless blobs of solder. The bracelet part of it held a few disks chiming against each other, marked with symbols she didn't recognise. And that was it: from then on, she was considered harmless. No more was said about it, and her slave-life had begun as soon as she was strong enough to stagger to the kitchens.

She had worked hard, thinking to redeem herself, and not realising that it made no difference to them. She had even, stupidly, thought they were going to take it off once, when she was fifteen and she saw the healer again. She hadn't recognised him. He smiled thinly and took the chain in his clammy hands, not saying a word as he inspected each charm. Daine held her breath as he opened a box, wondering if he would take out something to cut the thing from her hand. But he had simply taken out another disk, pressed it to a free link in the chain, and muttered a few words under his breath. The glow of his gift linked the new charm onto the chain, and he waved her away without another word. She stopped to examine it when she'd left the room, and a vague memory of a lifetime ago resurfaced. For the last time, she had let herself cry where other people could see her. It was a pregnancy charm. That was the first time she had really understood how little she really meant to these people.

She shook the memory away fretfully. After all, her chain was silver. She was a curiosity, if anything. Worthless now she'd been tamed, and treated like it. The Hawk Mage's chain was gold. He was valuable. But the fire from the chain would kill him if he was already ill. They needed him to be healthy before they could put him in a cage. They wouldn't risk having anyone important around while he could still use his gift, now, would they?

The thought made her look around, her eyes accusing as she stared at the bird. _I could kill it. _She thought. _So easily. I could smother it, or drown it. They wouldn't know it was me. I could say he died from the sickness. _

As quickly as the thought had risen in her mind she swallowed and chased it away, feeling sick. It was a horrible thing to think, even of a murderer. And whether or not they knew the truth, however he died, they would kill her.

She stood up and picked up the frayed tunic, carrying it over to the bird and wrapping it up warmly. She didn't touch it, just the fabric, and even that as little as possible. She put a few scraps of meat onto a rag and set them next to the cocooned creature's head. She soaked a rag in the barrel and dripped water onto the hawk's head, ignoring the protesting sound as it was soaked and seeing with relief that it opened its beak and swallowed a little of it. Then she sat back down next to the fire, threw one of the few precious logs onto the embers, and wrapped her arms around her knees to wait.

It must have been many hours later. She had used up all the wood, and was writing with a piece of charcoal onto one of the rags when the door rattled open, and the soldier strode through it, jangling his keys. He took in the wrapped-up bird with a glance, and laughed at the girl huddled as far away as possible from the mage, next to the fire.

"That's right girl, you should be scared of that one." He drawled. He hooked his hands into his belt, taking his time before he spoke. For all his bluster, he wasn't as bad as a lot of the other guards. If you didn't say anything back- and, obviously, Daine never did- then he ran out of steam quite quickly and just got on with his job. Today that seemed to include fetching Daine down to the kitchens to heave a full basket of the same damp wood into the Hawk Mage's room. As soon as she was out of the room and the door locked behind them, Daine took a deep breath and felt herself start shaking. The soldier looked at her with something close to sympathy, but didn't say a word as he escorted her down the stairs.

"Is there anything needed?" He asked gruffly, gesturing around the room with awkward hands. Daine nodded and handed him the scrap of cloth she'd been writing on. She'd thought they might ask, and had spent a long time thinking of things she might need. She didn't dare ask for something to defend herself with, though. The guard read through the list slowly, lips pursed, and shook his head at a few things.

"I'll have to get this checked," he said, "Approved, like. But I'm sure some soup wouldn't be missed. Birds don't chew, do they?"

Daine shook her head, surprised enough by the question to actually make eye-contact with the man. For a brief second she saw a flash of another person inside his eyes. She looked away. She couldn't think of the guards as people. It made her life seem so much more wretched. Still, she was surprised and grateful when the guard brought her a cup of the thin broth that always simmered on the stove and told her to sit down and drink it while he found some of the other things on the list. It was the first hot food she'd had in weeks, and she could feel the warmth spreading through her body deliciously after the cold night.

The guard returned and handed her a bulging bag without a word. She took it, confused- she hadn't asked for this much, she wouldn't have dared! He didn't give her a chance to open the bag, or any explanation, but picked up the basket of wood and carried it back to the tower room for her without another word. She felt the cold of the tower and her fear of the room making her shake again, but the guard's compassion seemed to have faded with every step he took. When she hesitated in the doorway he shoved her through, and threw the basket after her so that the wood scattered among the rushes.

"Same time tomorrow." He said curtly, "And if he's no better you'll be whipped."

She stayed huddled where she had fallen on the floor until the door clicked shut, and then sighed and started picking up the wood. It was best to keep busy, at least until she could stop herself shaking. She filled the basket, and then used a flat piece of wood to sweep the mouldy reeds into one corner. If the mage was hurt- and the bandages told her that he probably was- then the reeds would welcome infections into the room. She could sleep on the soft rushes, now they were piled up. She dampened another rag and cleaned the exposed stone floor, scrubbing it with a vengeance. When the floor was clean the rag was worn into holes, and she threw it into the fire to hiss and curl into flames.

She looked up at the bird from time to time, but it seemed no different. It hadn't opened its eyes, or tried to escape from the tunic she'd wrapped it in. The food was untouched, and she frowned. If it wouldn't eat then it would die, as sure as sugar. She unpacked the bag the guard had given her, finding the canister of soup nestled at the top with a small wooden spoon. It was made of such flimsy wood that it could never be a weapon, but it was perfect for spooning the still-warm liquid into the bird's protesting beak. She found if she thought about it as an animal then it was easier, since she could never be afraid of a simple hawk. It had shown no sign of wanting to become human again since the night before. When she released it the bird gurgled down its last beakful of food, swallowed, and fell asleep.

Daine took the time to open the bag. She gasped, almost smiling for a moment as she realised why it was so heavy. The guard had found a thick blanket, the kind lined with fleece and braided wool, and stuffed it into the bag for her. She'd asked for a blanket, but she'd never _dreamed _it would be something this fine. Oh, she knew it was meant for the mage, but still she couldn't resist wrapping it around herself, feeling almost warm for the first time in months. She lay near the fire, almost ashamed of how comfortable she felt, and tucked her frozen feet into the rich folds of soft fabric.

The fire spluttered and one of the new logs burst into flame, but she didn't think to bank the flue. She was already asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: As always, thanks for the reviews! I hope you're enjoying this story. More updates soon!

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Chapter 3

"Do you have any water, please?"

Her eyes flew open at the croaking words, and she sat bolt upright in a second. The room was growing dark- she must have slept through the whole day – and the fire was back in embers beside her. The thick blanket fell from her shoulders when she moved, and she shoved it away in a flustered panic.

The bird was gone! She could barely see the man in the darkness, but it was certainly a human's silhouette that filled the narrow bed. She threw another piece of wood on the fire to hide her sleep-hazed confusion, and the mage repeated his question. His voice was so coarse that it made her own throat ache in sympathy.

"I'm sorry for waking you up, miss, but I really am very thirsty. Do you?"

She stood up and fled to the water barrel, flinching when her feet ached at the sudden movement. She stared down into the dark water, seeing her own terrified eyes staring back at her. She looked around for a mug, but of course they hadn't thought to give her one. She hadn't thought to ask, either. The only container she had was half full of soup, and she was terrified to waste it. Mindlessly she plunged her hands into the barrel, the cold water shocking her into wakefulness, and carried the water over to him. Then she stopped short as the wood on the fire finally blazed, and she saw the man for the first time.

_What am I __doing?_

She hadn't taken in his appearance at all. Her eyes refused to take in details- they just showed her a man who she was terrified of, who was so tall his bare feet hung over the edge of the bed. Her eyes reminded her that he was easily big enough to overpower her, even as sick as he was. She froze, arms falling to her sides, and she was dimly aware of the water dripping from her palms as she clenched her hands into fists.

_You're not a coward, Daine. _She thought. _Stop it. He has to drink, or he'll die of thirst. _

She blinked, dashing away her paralysed terror, and saw that he had very dark eyes. His skin was pale and he was so thin that it was pulled tightly over his bones, making those eyes look bigger and more beseeching as they looked at her. To her surprise he didn't shout at her for dropping the water, or even mention it, but looked back at her with level curiosity.

"I'm sorry for scaring you." He said, his voice nearly a whisper now. "I'm not going to hurt you."

_People will say anything when they're desperate, _Daine retorted in her mind, but kept her expression blank. Even she knew that she was wrong to think so. The man was being worryingly sincere. She turned on her heel and dipped up another handful of water, and this time she brought it to him. He smiled and drank, his stubble scratchy against her hands as she tipped her makeshift pitcher up. When she turned to get more he shook his head, eyes sleepy.

"Thank you, but too much at once... will make me ill." He said. She stared at him incredulously, and couldn't help looking down at his emaciated arms, torso, his bone-white skin. To her surprise he laughed, a hacking sound barely recognisable as anything happy. "Yes, you're right. Can't get much worse, can I?"

She dipped up a second handful of water and he drank obediently, trembling hands raised as if her own hands really were a cup that he had to support. She thought about shaking him off, but she was curious to see what he would do next. She pressed one damp hand against his forehead and was surprised the water didn't instantly turn to steam. There was some willow bark in the bag though, so she could treat a fever. She was thinking seriously about how to go about it when one of his hands closed around hers. She jumped and yanked her hand back. When she was safely back by the fireplace, panting in sudden fear, she turned and glared at him.

"I'm so sorry, little one." He said, eyes gentle as he drifted into sleep, "I didn't mean to scare you."

She bit back a sob and stared at the fire, telling herself the smoke was making her eyes fill with tears. She looked up again, and the overlarge black bird was sleeping with its head tucked neatly under one wing.

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The next time the bird woke up she had finished making the medicine. Well, perhaps that was too charitable a word for it. She had shredded some of the bark as best she could with her fingernails into the soup canister, topped it up with water, and had left it in the embers of the fire to boil. After an hour or so she had decided to add the meat to the mixture, turning it into a kind of stew.

_He's far too thin. _She thought, _He needs food more than anything. _

She ate the stale bread and some of the cheese, although she wasn't really hungry, and then took up her place by the fire, hands wrapped around knees, and watched him. She could tell when he woke up; he shivered and moved the wing as if it ached, and then looked out from under the feathers with a curious black eye. She used a rag to get the canister out of the fire and tried to remember where she'd left the spoon. Then she sat on the floor next to the low pallet bed, canister and spoon ready, and waited.

The sound was more like a sigh than the magical sound she'd imagined, but then she realised it had to be something quiet, or else she'd have noticed him doing it before. He looked a little better than he had a few hours before- the water and sleep must have done some good- but he shook from the effort of shapeshifting, and his forehead was dewed with fever-sweat. He smiled a greeting, looking more awake this time, and rolled awkwardly onto his side so he could see her. The movement made him shudder, and Daine remembered that he must be badly hurt.

Well, that would be next. She stood up to get the bandages and cleaning alcohol and sat down next to him with them, letting him see them so he'd understand what she meant to do. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I... you need me to stay human?"

She nodded. As soon as he shape shifted the bandages would fall away. And besides, the wounds were probably getting torn by all this silly shrinking and growing. The man bit his lip and looked away for a moment.

"It's... difficult. Very difficult. I'm sorry."

Daine shrugged, face as blank as she could make it. Gods, but the man was an idiot! She almost wanted to shake him. Any fool could tell you not to use your magic if you were sick! Perhaps he saw some of her scorn in her eyes, because he shut his eyes again and spoke more slowly.

"I'll try. I'll try for you, I promise."

The girl picked up the canister and the spoon, offering them to him. _If he can feed himself, I can do his bandages, and then he'll be asleep again and he won't keep talking to me like I'm worth being polite to. _He willingly took the spoon, but his hand shook far too much to scoop up the stew, and she didn't want to risk spilling the precious willow bark. A tiny spoonful at a time, she fed him mouthfuls of the healing broth.

"What's your name?" He asked between mouthfuls. Daine ignored him, and he tried again. "My name is Numair. It's, erm, it's nice to meet you. Under admittedly dubious circumstances, but still...!" he smiled, a sudden brightness which dimmed as he was met by a blank look. "Don't you speak?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. She almost felt ashamed of herself for still being afraid of someone who was obviously so stupid! Words got you beaten, or whipped, or shouted at. Worst, words got you noticed by people whose notice had teeth, and fingernails, and torn clothes. No, she didn't speak. He quietened at that, thoughtful for a few minutes as she fed him the last of the stew and rinsed out the canister, filling it with fresh water and leaving it by his hands.

"I know," he said a few moments later, when he heard her intake of breath, "I'm a bit of a mess."

Daine looked at him with incredulous eyes, wondering how he could sound so calm. Most of the cuts and scrapes were what you'd expect from a scuffle- nothing deadly, most of them wouldn't even leave a scar. But, red and swollen against his too-pale skin and running halfway across his stomach, was a livid sword cut. She bit her lip and held a hand above it, feeling the heat of infection radiating from it even from inches away. It looked like he'd been turning just as someone had stabbed at him, taking most of the blow across his ribs but leaving a long, deep slash across his torso. She took a step back and ran a hand through her hair. For the first time since she'd been locked in this room, she really thought he was going to die. She caught his eyes, knowing that her horror was written on her face and not caring.

"I take it you have good news for me?" He asked lightly, and made that same hacking laugh. Even that was enough to start thick drops of dark blood pooling in the base of the gash. Daine desperately pressed her hand over his mouth to stop him laughing, and then scrambled for her bandages. They wouldn't make a dent.

He screamed when she poured the alcohol into the wound, his neck twisting in thick cords as he tried to deal with the sudden agony. Daine gritted her teeth and carried on, cleaning out the dried blood and dirt which must have been there for days. She pressed a clean rag heavily over it to stem the new bleeding, and lashed it down tightly with the bandage. It was like throwing a pebble into the ocean to stop the tide, and they both knew it.

When she'd finished she fetched the wonderful blanket and pulled it over him, hoping the extra heat would help his fever to break. That, at least, she had a hope of curing. He let her, laying in silence with his shaking hands over his eyes as he tried to ride out the pain. Daine sat back down next to the head of the bed and dampened her last clean rag in the rainwater, then handed it to him. He pressed the cool fabric to his forehead.

"Thank...you..." he gasped, after a few minutes. Daine looked up in disbelief. No-one would thank another person for putting them through that agony! And yet, he was. He was looking at her gratefully with black eyes that were still swollen with tears. She looked away, embarrassed to be a cause of his suffering. She didn't think anyone would want a stranger to see them like that, so weak and helpless.

"Were they serious?" The man – Numair, she reminded herself- asked after a few minutes. His voice still shook, was still weak, but a lot of the croakiness had gone, and it almost sounded like a human was speaking. Daine didn't have a clue what he meant, though, and looked up enquiringly. He made a feeble gesture with one hand. "The men who were in here, before. Were they being truthful when they said that if I died..." His voice tailed off. Perhaps he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, but Daine reminded herself that he was a murderer, and insane, and was probably just too weak to speak. She nodded in answer to his question, and his eyes opened wide.

"_Why?" _

She gaped at him, and had to press her hands to her mouth to hide what was almost a mocking smile. People didn't like it if they thought you were laughing at them. She didn't answer, not even a shrug, and he sighed.

"I thought they might be. I'm... not sure if I can help you. I'm so sorry, little one." She didn't look around, and he persisted. "I wanted to die, you see. It's why I stayed as a bird. But when they said... well, I thought it best to live. I'm trying to remember how to fight back, but maybe it's too late." He had such casual words to talk about his own death, but Daine barely heard them. He wasn't making any sense. Was he saying that he was trying to save her life?

Had the healer known he would do that? Perhaps that was why they'd made their threat in front of the bird. It would explain why the guard had threatened to whip her right after being so unusually kind. _But..._ she frowned. _But if they thought he would want to save a stranger's life, they can't possibly have thought he was the monster I've heard stories about. The Hawk Mage wouldn't care if a stranger died. _

_This... this "Numair" might, though. _Said a small voice in the corner of her mind.

She was very confused.

His eyes were fluttering shut, exhausted now the willow bark had started to work and the pain was subsiding. She looked up into his eyes, looking directly at him for the first time and wondering who this stranger really _was_.

He touched the bruise on her face with his frozen fingers. "I'm so very sorry they did this to you. It's not right." He murmured. The hand dropped as he fell asleep, falling on her shoulder. She rested her swollen cheek against it, her thoughts a confused whirl, and wondered if her warm skin was as relieving for him as the cool fingertips were against the bruise. It was an oddly peaceful thought to fall asleep to.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and feedback! I'm so glad you guys like my story! Sorry for it starting off so dark and depressing- there are good times ahead, I promise!

Chapter 4

Daine asked for, and received, a length of fine-spun thread and a sharp needle. The guard hesitated before giving her the needle, but he seemed to know why she needed it, and left in a squeamish hurry. The girl threaded the needle almost as soon as the door slammed shut, then dropped it into the alcohol bottle to make sure it was clean. Among the other things the guard had brought her was more willow bark, and she picked out the biggest piece.

Numair was asleep, one hand still hanging over the edge of the bed. She hesitated before waking him up, but the last thing she wanted was to think he was passed out, only to then have him move suddenly and hurt himself more. She didn't like the idea of him being awake for this, though, and impulsively she took hold of his hand and squeezed it. His eyes fluttered open, dimmed by sleep, but his first reaction on seeing her was to smile.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn't remember him ever not looking pleased to see her. It was a strange realisation; something stirred in her stomach at the idea of being wanted even as she wanted to shrink away from the attention. Still, she couldn't bring herself to smile back. She showed him the needle and thread, and he paled slightly as he understood, but nodded when she handed him the piece of willow bark and bit down on it.

It seemed to take an age to sew the gash shut, and Daine thought she might hear the man's anguished cries for the rest of her life. The swollen, infected flesh cracked and bled at the slightest touch, and she had to make several stitches in some places as his skin simply broke away. A few times she had to turn her face away, retching at the sight of it and at his pain, before steeling herself to keep going. She didn't know how he stayed conscious through it, but finally, _finally, _it was over and she could cover the tortured flesh with a new bandage.

Numair slumped back against the bed, breathless in agony. She was about to take his hand again, to help him through this, when he started glowing. Black sparks drifted over his skin, and settled on his fingertips. For a few moments the fingers shuddered into points, fusing into feathered wings, as the mage bit down sharply on the piece of bark and shut his eyes. Shaking with the effort, he forced himself to breathe evenly, deeply, and the sparks began to fade away. His wings turned back into clenched fists. When he was fully human again he breathed out once, suddenly, harshly.

For a horrible moment Daine thought he had died. She darted forward, willing him to breathe again, and when he did she nearly laughed out loud. She wondered what had happened, though. She'd thought he'd _meant_ to shapeshift all those times, and had told her being human was difficult out of... stupidity, or cowardice. But this... this was different from that. He really looked like he hadn't had a choice.

She caught his hand and barely winced when he crushed it in his fingers. That was as unconscious as his transformation had been. Gradually, as the pain lessened, his hand relaxed. Daine might have pulled it away, then, but it didn't seem needed. His black eyes opened and focused, taking in the silver of the chain which he held along with her hand and gradually frowning in something other than pain.

"What is this?" He asked. Daine didn't say anything, but nor did she pull away. She turned her wrist slightly so he could see the string of tiny charms. She didn't know what they meant, but they said that the Hawk Mage was clever. Perhaps he could work it out. The line between his eyes deepened as he saw the magical signs carved into the metal, and he moved his eyes slowly from one to the other. When he spoke, he still hadn't let go of her hand, but his thumb gently stroked her wrist.

"What is this place, little one?" He asked in a quiet voice. "Why have they done this to you?"

_Why do you care? _Daine thought, feeling her throat ache with unshed tears. He shouldn't. He mustn't. It hurt her too much to think about it. It hurt her too much to receive any kindness, not when she knew the real world waited outside that door. She bit her lip and showed him the solder which bound the chain to her forever. The solder which said, almost _shouted, _the word 'slave'. She waited for him to understand that, to drop her worthless hand and demand to be nursed by someone higher than dirt.

He didn't. He looked at her with eyes which burned with compassion. He looked like he cared about her, when only minutes before she was close to killing him. _He doesn't understand._ She showed him the pregnancy charm, which was still looking slightly newer than the other charms. Let him understand that, at least. If anything, the admission that she was a _thing, _not a _person, _made him pity her even more. She wanted to drink that pity up like rainwater, but at the same time a wave of hate rose up inside her. What right did he have to pity her? He didn't know anything. He didn't realise that she deserved it.

"I understand now." He said, his voice soft and full of sadness for her. "I wouldn't want to talk, either."

The hatred boiled inside her, and she yanked her hand away. With petulant anger she grabbed the gold chain from the rickety table and hurled it at him.

"Then _don't!" _She screamed, and dissolved into hysterical tears.

888

What could they do except continue as they had been before? Daine emerged from her crying fit cloaked in her silence, and Numair knew better than to try to get her to speak. She wondered at those words. She'd screamed them in anger, but her voice was like a stranger's even to her ears. It was a voice as harsh as a crow's, unused and ignored for so long that she'd forgotten it. But while she was crying she'd realised why her own voice had started this flood of sorrow: from her own lips, she had heard her ma's voice.

Numair had slipped back into an uneasy sleep, awoken every so often by stabs of pain as his body fought against the thread. Daine boiled more willow bark and fed it to him whenever he woke up, not caring that the liquid was too hot to comfortably drink, or that the canister was burning her hands. She drifted through the afternoon in a mindless haze and tried to remember anything about her ma. Now that she remembered the woman's voice she realised that she'd blocked out the colour of her hair and the shape of her smile. A few times she caught the mage looking at her quizzically, and chased away whatever nostalgic expression was haunting her face without a word.

Numair was just stirring for the fifth time when the rattle of keys in the door shocked him into wakefulness. Daine jumped too, not expecting the guard to return until the next morning. But it wasn't the guard or the healer, but one of the coarser soldiers who guarded the officials – the faceless men who made decisions about this place, and reported back to the king. Daine's heart sank as she realised why this man was here, and she had to turn away and take a deep breath to stop herself from being sick.

The man barely looked around the room. "Ah, they said you'd be here. Get a move on." He said, his voice brash and threatening. Daine stood up straight, then took the canister over to Numair so he could help himself. She slowly turned to leave with the soldier.

"Wait... wait!" Numair had made an effort to speak loudly enough to be acknowledged, and the guard glared at him. The mage caught Daine's wrist in his hand, and she blinked at it dully. "Where are you taking her?"

"You'll have her back in an hour." The man drawled. "Maybe."

Daine could see the soldier's hand twitching at the stick at his belt, and inwardly cringed. He was the sort to beat any prisoner for any offence. Numair didn't even seem to realise he _was_ a prisoner yet – although seeing the gold chain had certainly scared him – and he definitely wouldn't survive a beating. She looked down at him and made a decision. Taking his hand in both of hers, she squeezed it reassuringly and nodded, smiling as if everything was fine before letting it go. His eyes narrowed.

"You liar. You _never _smile." He whispered, so low the soldier couldn't hear. She gestured to the bruise which was still livid on her cheek, then pointed at him. While he was working that out, his fever-addled eyes growing more horrified, she pulled away and left.

The rooms of the officials were always warm. They had carpets, as well, and every time she was taken there Daine forced herself to be happy about that. Half an hour passed where she tried to remember what her ma's favourite colour was, and it was only dimly afterwards that she realised the man was speaking to her. She sat up, dully pulling her tattered tunic around herself. She sat with her hands looped around her knees and listened in some astonishment. The officials _never _spoke to her.

"He's a lunatic, you know." This one was saying conversationally, and smirked at her expression. "Oh, I know they've got you caring for him. You wild animals, looking out for each other, right? But he'll turn on you, you mark my words, and you'll be sorry."

Daine swung her legs around to the side of the bed, using it as an excuse not to look at him. Normally she'd have left by now, her mind still a perfect blank. The more he spoke, the more she could feel the gradual reminder of the hurt he'd just done her. The more he spoke, the more she wanted to claw his eyes out. Normally this hit her when she was locked back in her room, and she could sob out her anger in frustrated peace. She clenched her fists and tried to remember what kind of food ma had liked.

"Tell me what he's like." The man ordered. "No-one will believe we actually caught the Hawk Mage if we can't describe him!"

Daine stared at him. Even if she'd wanted to speak, she didn't want to waste her mother's voice on this slimy creature. And she had no idea how she would describe Numair, apart from, well... _dying. _

_Caring. _The second voice volunteered the only word that made being trapped in this room worse. She swallowed and looked at the floor, losing her grip on her emotionless mask for a brief second. The official leered at her, catching the fleeting moment, and grabbed hold of her chin so she couldn't look away.

"_Handsome, _is he? Is that how it is? Being a good little nurse, are you?" He saw the pain in her eyes, and something close to triumph glowered in his expression. In three years, it was the first time anyone had ever gotten a rise from the stupid, dull-witted wolf girl. He giggled. "I suppose it's only natural, it's in your blood. Your mother was a whore, too, wasn't she?"

Daine slapped him. Her palm made a ringing sound as the chains cut into his face, and he fell back with a bellow. She didn't know which of them was more surprised by what she'd done. It only took her a second to drag herself out of her paralysed fear, but it was a second too long. She stood to run, and the guard who had been waiting outside grabbed her around the waist with the point of his knife digging into her ribs. She struggled, desperately trying to break free.

"Oh no," the official said, ignoring the thin blood trickling down his face as he advanced on her. "You're not going anywhere until you've apologised."

The girl's mouth shaped the words _I'm sorry _desperately, but it was too late. "No, that's not good enough." Said the man lazily, drawing the guard's stick from his belt and hefting it. "Not good enough at _all." _

888

The door burst open and they shoved the girl through. She fell as soon as they let her go, landing heavily against the stone floor with no effort to stop her fall. Vicious feet kicked her legs out of the way of the door, and then it slammed behind them and they were gone, laughing in the echoing corridor.

Numair had been shocked into wakefulness by the sound, but it was the silence which kept his drug-bewildered mind working. For a long, horrible moment he couldn't tell if the girl was breathing, and then she took a shuddering breath and pushed herself up on shaking arms. She pulled herself along the floor, agonisingly slowly, until she reached the bed. Then she stopped, exhausted, one hand still reaching out. The man reached down and took it, holding it firmly in both hands. It seemed to be what she wanted; she stopped shaking and lay still, drifting into an uneasy unconsciousness.

"What did they do to you?" Numair whispered, aghast. The small movement made daggers of white-hot pain shudder through his body, but he managed to lean down enough to kiss her hand. The fingertips curled around his, but she didn't reply.

Daine had no idea how much later it was before daylight broke into the soft darkness of her dreamless sleep. It must have been long hours, though, because the fire was a few pitiful embers and it was no longer night. She moved and was slowly aware that the blanket lay across her back. One emaciated hand was still gripping a part of the fabric, as if the mage had fallen asleep with the effort of giving her the heavy fabric. His other hand held hers tightly. When she moved his eyes flashed open, and he gripped her hand more tightly.

"Don't move. You're hurt." He whispered in a voice cracked by thirst. He clumsily located the canister of willow bark and handed it to her. "Drink."

She shook her head, feeling the movement send stabs of pain down her body. _I made that for you, dolt! _Her mental voice was scathing, realising that the man must have been saving the day's medicine for her, rather than drinking it himself.

"Ah, but you can make more medicine," he said lightly, as if he had read her thoughts. "I wouldn't have a clue how to even start! So it's only logical, really."

She didn't answer. He sighed, and for the first time she heard a vein of iron in his voice. "If you don't drink it, I'll pour it on the floor."

_What?! _She wrenched her head around, eyes wide, and saw that his expression was completely serious. When she went to grab the canister away from him he held on to it stubbornly, with that same surprising strength that had run through his voice. As if to apologise, he stroked her cheek gently with his other hand, carefully avoiding the bruise.

"Drink, little one." He said quietly, supporting her head and bringing the canister to her lips. She looked into his calm, dark eyes and obeyed. The mixture was stronger than she'd thought, and the ebbing relief from her pain made her feel sleepy. Or was it... she saw the black glint of his magic weaving lazily through the liquid, and sudden panic made her choke. _He's witching me! _And then it was too late, too late to fight or throw the cursed potion away, or even vomit it up. She wrenched herself away from him, from demon hands which had seemed to caring a few moments before, and the spell hurled her into oblivion.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Eee! Thank you so much for all your kind reviews and comments! Hello too to all the people watching this story.

Chapter 5

"Is she dead?"

Numair swam up from the dark oblivion of pain that passed for sleep these days and tried to get his eyes to focus. He could hear perfectly, even though most of what he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears. The voice wasn't curious at all; it sounded like it simply didn't care. That made him angry enough to tear his eyes open and fix the man in a glare.

To his surprise, the healer took a step back and gripped the edge of the doorframe with his stubby fingers. The mage wondered what on earth they thought a dying man could possibly do to them. Then he remembered that the twisted body of the girl was lying on the floor between them, soaked in blood. He looked down at her, and after a moment saw the slight rise of her chest as she breathed. Cold, clear relief flooded through him like water, and his spinning head focused in his anger.

"Heal her." He said out loud, wishing his broken voice had the same strength he was used to. The other man leaned against the door frame, raising an eyebrow enquiringly.

"Why should I?"

"Why should you? Are you really that stupid? That heartless? She's a person! A human being!" He was furious, but the shouted words came out as a harsh croak. The healer laughed and nudged the girl with his foot.

"You know, you're wrong about that." His voice was almost serious. "She's not. She's an animal, a wild creature. They were calling her a _werewolf_ when we caught her – isn't that a good name? Only an animal would have done what she did. They wanted to slaughter her, to see what her true shape would be when she died. We told them that she was immortal, that she could only be destroyed by silver." He smirked and looked up, meeting Numair's eyes as the sick man stared back at him in revulsion. "Well, that much was true enough."

"And then you brought her here?" The mage demanded, "To... to this?"

"We collect rarities." The healer drawled, losing interest in telling stories. "But she really is an animal. She's even lost the ability to speak. We're starting to think someone hexed their pet dog, honestly. Six years, we've had her, and she's just getting worse."

"And you... you think that makes what you're doing to her... somehow acceptable?" Even the nonchalant healer took a step back at the pure fury in the mage's voice. It crackled in his eyes with black fire, and the air seemed to breathe in around him. The healer clung to the door frame with white knuckles which blistered as the air heated with every accusation. "I don't think you believe any of that for a second. You _know _she's human. You took a little girl, a _child_, and made up a pathetic excuse to lock her away..."

He looked for a second like he was going to blast the healer with the fire which burned in his eyes, and the flames even licked up his fingertips for a breathless second, blackening the mage's fingertips as the healer shrieked and ducked behind the stone wall. Then, with a choking gasp, Numair clutched desperately at his own hands as the fingers darkened and lengthened into satiny dark feathers. Forcing his eyes shut, he forced himself to calm down, shuddering, until the feathers shrank back into his skin. The healer watched with some interest, but his voice was cold when he finally spoke.

"We didn't have to make up an excuse. Every prisoner we have is here because they deserve it. You might think on what that means for _you, _Hawk Mage_." _He nodded to someone outside the door.

The guard lugged in a new basket of wood and another hessian bag of food and supplies. Unlike the healer, the man stopped short as he saw the girl, his eyes shocked at the sight of her. The healer scowled and shoved at the man's shoulder, hurrying him up. For a split second the guard looked like he would obey without question, setting the bag next to the bed and the basket beside the fire. Then, impulsively, he leaned down to pick the girl up and carried her limp body over to the fireplace, where he laid her down carefully, if not too gently. Before he returned to the doorway the man threw another log onto the fire and waited for it to catch.

"Help her." Numair heard his voice pleading. He felt his head spinning. He didn't know if it was his fever returning after using his magic, or his confused thoughts torturing him. The guard looked at the healer, who shook his head.

"I can't. The chains make it impossible. And I wouldn't want to, anyway." He scowled at the guard reprovingly as the man dusted off his hands and left the room. "We only heal people who deserve it."

"What's her name?" The mage whispered, raising his fingertips dizzily to his head. Without the willow bark tea the gash across his stomach had started throbbing hotly, sending nausea and pain into every cell of his body. The healer's face spun in front of him, eyes blank.

"She doesn't have one. Never told us. Never speaks." He seemed to relent slightly and bent down over the huddled body, resting one stubby hand against the girl's throat. "Stop your whining, Hawk Mage. She'll live. You, on the other hand, are fair set to feed the worms. If this twisted protection game you've got going has any teeth, you're going to have to be more selfish and look to your own wounds." He laughed and waved cheerily, then left the room.

It might have been hours later, but Numair was still conscious enough to realise that even minutes would feel like hours with this pain, when the spinning slowed down a little. He forced his hands not to wander towards the wound, knowing that he might feel enough fresh blood seeping through the bandages to make him panic. Instead, he pulled the hessian bag closer, wincing at the small movement, and unpicked the string that held it shut. Wrapped in a scrap of cloth at the mouth of the bag were a wealth of pieces of bark, and he nearly wept in relief. He crammed a large chunk in his mouth and chewed until his jaw ached. The fire subsided, and he sighed in relief.

A pair of accusing grey eyes were staring at him, reflecting the flames from the fire. He took the bark out of his mouth and set it aside carefully. He moved slowly, as if she were a frightened kitten, and then hated himself for even making the comparison. She wasn't an animal, that was just the healer's depraved idea.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, "Are you feeling better?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes narrowed. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair awkwardly.

"Look, you had to sleep. You needed to heal. I just put you to sleep, I swear it. I should have told you I spelled the tea, but it was cursed difficult to get you to drink it even without that!"

The girl reached up painfully to the top of the fireplace and dragged herself upright. She hissed between her teeth, but only once, and steadied herself against the water barrel. Ignoring the man, she looked down into the water.

_How can they think she's mute? Don't they ever watch her? She doesn't know how much she gives away! _Numair thought, watching her trying not to flinch away from her reflection. He knew it was sheer stubborn pride which gave her the strength to stagger over to the table, to pick up a rag, to return to the water. She soaked the rag and cleaned off the blood, at first methodically, then scrubbing at it with a kind of fury. Her gaze shifted from the reflection to her clothes, and without even bothering to look around she began to wrench the fabric from her skin. The man quickly turned his face away and shut his eyes. Something told him that she'd never forgive him for seeing her like that – and he didn't mean her bruised, bared skin. If she thought he'd seen the raw, naked emotions written on her face, in her tense shoulders and shaking hands, then any tentative connection they might have would be gone forever.

He heard uneven footsteps, then the hiss of fabric as she picked the blanket up off the floor to wrap around herself. Then there was silence. He looked around, and saw that she was sorting through the hessian bag. All traces of emotion had been wiped from her face, and her eyes were as cold as ice. The men had left a clean, patched tunic in the bottom of the bag, and she slid it on without pausing.

_She knew it would be there. _Numair realised, and the thought made him want to retch. _This has happened before. _

_She wouldn't have been with another person afterwards, though. They'd've left her in some locked room, on her own, until she healed. She could shut herself away behind those cold eyes and keep all the pain and anger to herself, and no-one would ever hear how loudly she was screaming on the inside. And I guess there's a kind of dignity in that- in dealing with it on your own, and having something to own, even if it is just your own pride and it makes you mute. And now I'm here, and she can't even do that. _

Without really thinking about it, the mage reached out to the girl who sat on the floor beside his bed, and stroked her hair. It was damp from the rain barrel. He almost expected her to flinch and run away, but she sat quite still, head bowed, waiting blankly for him to finish so she could move again. He flushed and stopped.

She changed his bandages in the same blank silence, wincing a few times at some action but never looking at him. He had to talk, then, if only to distract himself from the pain when she frowned and started rethreading her needle.

"Am I forgiven, little one?"

She didn't even bother looking up. He mentally shrugged and tried another tactic. "Look, we're kind of stuck with each other here. We can't just sit around all day in complete silence. Well, maybe you can!" he laughed shortly, and had to hide a genuine grin when she couldn't help flashing a glare his way. Sure, the movement had probably started him bleeding again, but there was a kind of giddiness in his head which was gleefully trying to break through her shell. He chattered on inanely, occasionally winning a sidelong look or another glare, but nothing really worked until he had almost given up.

"I think I surrender." He sighed, "You know, I went to university? I've had debates with some of the most brilliant thinkers in the world. If they knew I'd been defeated by the silent treatment they'd laugh at me until they were sick. Well done, I guess." He looked up, expecting her to be looking away, but she was actually meeting his eyes with something close to curiosity. For the first time she didn't rapidly look away, but raised her eyebrows in a question before tying off the last knot on his bandage.

"What do you want to know about? People laughing at me? You're a bully."

The corners of her eyes lightened in something close to laughter, and he smiled in reply. "You want to hear about the university?" She nodded, and pointed out of the window. When he looked confused she rolled her eyes and pointed at herself, then at the ground, then at him, then to the distant horizon.

"Yes, it was far away, in Carthak." He understood, "You've never left Galla?"

She shrugged, then shook her head. He started to ask another question, but she scowled at him and went to prepare some more willow bark tea and unpack the food from the bag before making an odd gesture that asked him to speak again. He guessed she didn't make the gesture very often, and she looked embarrassed for even asking.

"Do you forgive me?" He asked, and then when she looked away he pressed, "It's important to me. I can't think straight when my friends are angry with me."

She had looked irritated when he started speaking, but she spun around with eyes impossibly wide by the end of his sentence. Did he imagine it, or did her lips move to shape the word? Either way, she formed a question that was nearly incredulous. He smiled warmly and held a hand out to her. "We are friends, aren't we?"

If the frank disbelief in her eyes had been any brighter she would have lit up the room. As it was, she stared at him for a long time in paralysed wonder, and the brightness gradually became a simple, childlike happiness as she realised he was serious. When she took his hand in agreement she smiled, and the genuine expression glowed with a strange beauty so unlike her usual thin, waif-like expression that he was taken aback. He kept hold of her hand, and after a moment realised that she was shaking from tiredness and pain.

He painfully pushed himself closer to the wall, thanking the gods that they were both so thin, and cleared a space for her on the bed. "Lie down, little one." He said quietly, "It's more comfortable than the floor, and you need good sleep as much as I do!" She hesitated and he smiled crookedly. "Don't make me witch you again! Come on, I'll tell you about Carthak."

That seemed to decide her. She smiled a thank-you and banked the fire, picked up the blanket, and lay down next to him. Her eyes shone in the firelight when Numair described the jewelled palaces of distant lands, but he'd barely started his story before her eyes fluttered shut. The mage sighed and stared at the ceiling, finding that sleep was very far from his mind. His thoughts demanded to be spoken, and so he whispered them to the girl curled up beside him. She stirred in her dream but did not wake, but it didn't matter if she heard the thought or not. Numair's soft, simple words held a deadly promise.

"I'm going to get you out of this place. I swear it."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As always, thanks to all my reviewers, and hi to all my watchers! I've been trying to update every day but it might slow down a little as I'm back at work this week. Still, on to the next chapter!

Chapter 6

Daine woke up and wondered why she felt so... _odd_. The day was as cold and grey as ever, and she was lying in her cell with her body throbbing from yet another beating. A flock of birds were roosting on the roof, and she could hear them buzzing in her mind like a swarm of bees. Normally she would wake up feeling dull, angry, irritable. But today... there was an irresistible lightness about waking up, and she didn't feel cold, or lonely, or broken. She blinked, and realised that she hadn't had any nightmares. Not one. For the first time since coming here, her sleep had been free from clawing hands and accusing eyes. She moved to rub the sleep from her eyes, and realised that she was holding on to something else. Someone's hand. And then, with a rush of happiness, she remembered _why _today was different.

"Good morning," Numair said in her ear. Daine smiled and squeezed his hand. If she hadn't known it would hurt him she might have hugged him, but she squashed the impulse that told her to do so. She suddenly felt slightly foolish, as if she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't. He'd just let her share the bed because she was hurt, and because he felt guilty for tricking her. She was so cut off from the real world that the smallest display of kindness made her want to throw herself into a complete stranger's arms! The thought wasn't fair to either of them, or even true, but it still made her flush. She was about to let go of his hand when she realised something. Biting her lip, she sat up stiffly and reached over to take his other hand. She rested it against her cheek and then smiled. His hands were warm – the fever was passing. When she checked the wound it was still raw, still fragile, but the angry red lines that had webbed his stomach were fading and heat no longer radiated from it.

"Good news?" The man asked, and the playful note in his voice couldn't hide his own relief. She grinned at him, climbing down from the bed to fetch the alcohol and willow bark. For the first time, she collected them with a sense that they might actually do something, and changed the bandages for fresh ones with good humour. When she had finished she portioned out some of the food that they had been left and handed him his share, glaring at him when he looked like he would refuse it.

"The little one is determined to get me well, even if it kills me." Numair muttered to his stale bread, then sighed and ate it with a dramatic, long-suffering look. Daine smirked at him and ate her own food, watching him with narrowed eyes to make sure he ate every crumb of cheese and every piece of bread, then handing him the willow tea with a triumphant look. After he drank she took a sip too, avoiding his eyes for the first time. She didn't want to talk about what had happened yesterday, and she knew he could read her eyes far too well.

After that, there was nothing left to do. Daine put the canister down next to the bed and lay down next to him again, telling herself it was because she was aching and tired, and not because her heart felt warmer when he immediately took her hand and held it. Now that his hands weren't frozen it was harder to think of him as the demon. Daine thought the demon must be the strange magical creature she'd seen trying to escape from him, the one with black feathers and screaming fire in its eyes. She wondered if he'd been cursed. As a man, as Numair, the Hawk Mage was no more threatening than a farmyard cat.

He told her one story after another in a soft, easy lilt, enjoying his own memories and glancing at her from time to time for a nod or a shrug, or a glare if she thought he was teasing her. They passed most of the day like that, with Daine making more tea or building up the fire, and Numair describing Carthak. Each time Daine lay down more easily, and by the afternoon all the awkwardness she felt had gone, along with most of her pain. The affectionate gestures the man made- holding her hand, or touching her arm- had made her shrink away at first. She soon realised that they seemed almost absentminded on his part, and she found she liked the easiness of it.

Numair started to describe the Carthaki palace, and she closed her eyes to see the pictures more clearly in her mind. Vast rooms full of books. Endless corridors paved in gilded tiles. Men and women in silk clothes so fine they made no sound when they danced. And they danced in ballrooms whose ceilings were so high the candlelight couldn't reach them. A hundred, a thousand candles, like bright stars in the endless desert nights, lighting up spinning figures adorned in shining red, and blue, and gold and green. Daine didn't think people and places like that could really exist. They were stories – beautiful, wonderful stories! – but real? She hid her face against the man's shoulder so the light couldn't steal the beautiful pictures away from her.

Numair stopped talking and gently stroked her hair. His eyes were strange as he looked at her, an odd mixture of gentle kindness and hopeless confusion. It was the first time that she'd seen them without the sick light of fever making them unfocused and quick. She thought perhaps he would ask her why she was cuddling up to him, but his bafflement was about something much worse.

"Little one," he started, and then pressed on without letting himself think about it, "What... what did you _do?" _

She stiffened, and he could feel her preparing to draw away. He shook his head and stroked the side of her face, where the bruise had nearly healed into nothing. "I'm not accusing you of anything, sweet. Really I'm not. I just don't understand how someone like you can end up in a place like this."

_Sweet? _Daine's mind rested on the word briefly, then fluttered away like a bird. She knew, with absolute certainty, that if he knew what she'd done he'd never speak to her again. And... and besides, what would she tell him? She could barely remember herself, just the colours and the sounds, and then the mob screaming for her blood.

She knew she must have done the terrible things they were screaming about, or else why would they blame her? She'd looked down at her hands as she stood on the charred platform, and had seen the blood. It had dried by then, rust-like in the grooves of her palms.

Her lungs were filled with smoke and her back ached from standing upright, but it was important, so important, that she stayed on her hind legs. She'd promised. She'd promised so faithfully, and it was important. It was only when they led the pony - looking so small and frightened but still stubbornly dragging her hooves – into the butcher's yard that she'd finally screamed, screamed her last smoke-choked breath into their deaf ears and lost her footing. It was only then that she broke her promise. It was only then that she could _remember _being the monster, tearing through them with sharp claws and blood slavered teeth in her sobbing fury.

One of the officials had told her that the massacre had saved her life. After Cloud, she was to have been executed. They were arguing over whether to use a noose or an axe, but she had made the decision for them. Such a creature, he said, should never be slaughtered. It should be captured. It should be tamed. Until that moment, they hadn't believed the creature existed. After she killed so many of the townspeople, her slavery had been assured. Yes, he said, coiling a finger in her hair until it dragged painfully against her scalp. Yes. We saved your life.

_No, _she thought suddenly, her thoughts dragging her back into the present. _They didn't save my life. They just stopped my death. This... this isn't life. This is a cage. If they wanted to punish me they __would __have killed me back then, and had done with it. That was what I deserved. _

Daine raised her hand and looked at it as if for the first time, seeing the swollen fingers where she'd raised it to protect herself. She remembered the sick look of savage glee on the face of the official as he raised the stick, the way he'd panted in sadistic gluttony every time it fell. _This... this has nothing to do with me, or what I did. It's all to do with what __they__ want, and what they know they can get away with._

She wondered where the thought had come from, and vaguely remembered angry voices, raised in a fevered dream of pain. Not voices. A voice. She looked up, and remembered. She realised what he had done. What they had said. How he had fought for her. And even though she still couldn't answer his question, for the first time in six years she found words she wanted to say. They came out slowly, hesitantly, but she meant every last one of them.

"I'm not... animal."

Numair wrapped his arm clumsily around her shoulders and held her very closely for a long moment, eyes shut. "Oh sweetheart, I know. I know that."

She choked back a sob of relief, and when he opened his eyes she was stunned to see that he was blinking back his own tears. She reached up with shaking fingers and brushed those tears away, wondering if they were the first ones anyone had ever shed for the slave girl. But just like he wasn't the Hawk Mage but Numair, she realised, she wasn't the slave girl either.

"I'm Daine." She smiled, feeling her throat already aching at so many words. He repeated the name back slowly, as if he were testing it, making it fit the face of the girl beside him.

"Daine," He smiled. "You know, it suits you. It's a very pretty name! Thank you for telling me, Daine."

How strange, to hear her own name again! It was probably easier for him to remember it than it was for her to recognise it as her own. She wanted him to say it again. She wanted to hear it spoken a thousand times in that soft, deep voice.

"Daine, can I tell you a story?" He said hesitantly, as if he hadn't just spent the whole day doing exactly that. She looked sidelong at him, thinking that she would listen to anything if it meant that she could stay here, with her friend, hearing her name and feeling his arm around her shoulders. But her few fleeting words had been spent, and she found she had no more of them. She nodded instead, knowing that next time the silence wouldn't be so hard to scare away. He took a deep breath, his arm tightnening for a moment as if he was scared she would leave, and then started:

"This is... this is the story of what _I _did."


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thank you to tamorapiercefanatic, sweetmari, Lollypops101 and Glorianna89 for the reviews! (and whoever the anonymous "me" is!) Keep 'em coming, guys, I love hearing from you and take all critique seriously.

Chapter 7

_Perhaps I should commence with my name, and my life, and my childhood. That's how these kinds of stories usually work, right? But I can tell you're not interested in that. I wouldn't be either, if I were you. You've heard all the stories about me, all the horrible things they say I've done, and you want to know what made me do them. Or perhaps you're wondering why the stories don't make sense. On the one hand I'm a crazed, mindless psychopath, and on the other, a clever, devious man with some kind of criminal plan. I'd like to say I'm neither, but that's really for you to decide. I will only promise, then, that I will tell you the truth, which the other stories will not. Doubt my actions, little one, but not my words. _

_Not my childhood, then. Let us start with my name. I was not born Numair, but Arram. Arram Draper, a name that truly instils fear! I almost prefer to be called the Hawk Mage. But no, there it is. Now my name is Numair, and I like it better, but I chose it because it would protect me. I told you about Carthak and its beautiful halls. I did not tell you about the corruption that sits among them like a spider. It hunkers down in the golden halls and lashes out at anyone who speaks against it. And what do you think the charming hero of this story did, little Daine? Yes, you're quite right. I suppose many of my Carthaki friends rolled their eyes at me too, but from a distance, for by then I was across the sea and had fled to Tortall. I made my living as a player. You don't know players? They go from town to town, putting on shows and playing tricks and making people laugh. But that's another story, for another day. Perhaps I'll save it for the next time you're angry with me!_

_...yes, yes, I am telling it! Shakith's teeth, little one, but that glare of yours could cut through stone! Where was I? Oh yes, so I was in Tortall, travelling the roads and hiding from anyone who looked like they might report back to Ozorne. And I met some people while I was on the road, and they knew some other people, and when we reached Corus I met some more people, who wore shiny pointy hats and gave me a job. Oh, don't look at me like that, you're clever enough to work it out. So, this job was... well, it never really had a name. If things went wrong, or they suspected that someone was plotting against them, or that there was a threat, they would send me to find out more about it. If it was something I could solve myself then I had permission to do so, and if not, then I was to gather information and then report back to the army. _

_I did that for a few years, and did quite well at it, if I do say so myself! One of the reasons was because I could... well, I have enough magic to shapeshift. I would turn into a bird and listen in to conversations, or fly to places I wasn't supposed to see. You'd be surprised how many people think a washed-out bridge is enough to make us lose interest in their hidden soldiers! And then... then, about six years ago, I was caught. I was held captive, but they didn't kill me, because they knew I was a spy. _

_Yes, I was a spy. You look surprised? Little one, there's no guarantee that someone with a lot of power, or money, is going to be a good person. Some people are greedy, and they want more, and they don't care who they hurt to get it. You should understand that more than most people. Do you really think the people who run this place would happily tell other Gallans what they're up to? Five miles outside of these walls, people have no idea that this place even exists. I'd never heard about it before I woke up here, and believe me: I ask a __lot __of questions. _

_Anyway, I was caught spying, and I thought that would be it for me, but they wanted to find out how much I already knew. So they fed me drugs to make me tell them the truth. I panicked, and changed into a bird to fly away, but I'd drunk far more of their potion than any bird could possibly deal with. _

_I remember falling. I remember hiding. And I remember darkness, and that's it. After a while I remember waking up and not remembering that I should be human, and not knowing what shape I should be instead. Days passed. It felt right for my face to be human, because I recognised myself in my reflection... but I didn't know the reflected human's name. I didn't feel safe without wings to fly with. I couldn't walk with clawed feet. Half-man, half-hawk, I staggered around the foothills of Galla searching for some clue as to what I was, and never found it. Who would I ask? They ran away screaming. At the time I thought perhaps that they were giving me my answer. When they ran I wanted to hunt them down, because I was more hawk than human, and they were my prey. _

_I... I don't remember everything I did. I like to think that I didn't kill anyone, because I... I can't __remember__ killing anyone. But I know I could have. I know I was more than capable of it. All I know is that I came back to myself, so slowly I barely realised it was happening. Some months I was a hawk, fully a bird, roosting in trees and mindless. Some months I was a man, with no memory but not a threat. I think that's why I didn't get caught, Daine. They were looking for a creature, not a vagabond stealing crusts of bread from the market. The worst thing any monster can do is look normal. I continued like that for... well, I don't know how long. But a winter passed, and then a summer, and another winter, so it must have been years. _

_One day... a few months ago... I woke up, and I remembered. Just like that. It was like someone snapped their fingers, and my mind returned. And in the same instant that I knew __who __I was, I realised __what__ I had become. And I was ashamed, Daine, so ashamed. I knew my friends must have thought me dead long ago. I don't even know if they tried to find me. I expect they did. Perhaps they even knew what I'd become, but... I hope not. I don't think I could look them in the eye. _

_By then I was so used to being the creature that it was second nature. I'm a powerful mage, Daine. Very powerful. But to use your magic, you have to find your calm centre, and mine is anything but calm! I look into my core and see the hawk bleeding into it. Bronze tendrils in black, so hopelessly tangled that I can't do anything to fix it. I tried. Gods bless it, for months I tried! But even meditating makes me lose my grip on who I am, and I have to fight it. I lost control so many times, and as soon as I lose control I lose... I lose myself again. No memories, no shame, just the hunter and the hawk. It's... terrifying. Not so much losing myself as becoming human again, and feeling the horror that next time, next time I might not be able to come back. _

_I knew only two things. I couldn't heal myself, and I was dangerous. So I decided to surrender. I told you I wanted to die. It's not wholly true... I'm scared to die. But I couldn't let the monster live. So I turned myself over to the guards. They were supposed to kill me on sight. I made myself threatening on purpose, knowing they could overpower me. I'd not eaten for weeks, to be weak enough to be defeated. And then those... those stupid officials... stopped the execution and brought me here. And they brought you here, and made their threats. And I realised that... that I can't be responsible for the death of another innocent person. _

_Why am I telling you this? I think you deserve to know... to understand. I'm too weak to hurt you now, but I might... I __might__, and to be honest I probably will. I won't be able to help it. They knew that too, the officials. I think you know that. But I don't want you to get hurt. I didn't when you were a stranger, and now... well, it's unthinkable. _

888

_He's lying. He must be lying. _

_He looks at me, and I feel something inside me shiver as he meets my eyes with his own piercing dark gaze. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Daine?" He asks, with an insistent note in his voice. "I... I haven't told this to anyone before. But I want to __help__ you. I can't do anything unless you trust me, and I know you won't trust me without the truth. You need to make a decision. I'm offering to take you out of here. Sooner or later I'll have to fight them, and as soon as I call my magic I'll lose control. I won't recognise you. Escaping with me will be as dangerous as staying here with them. But I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are... vile. I have to stop them. But if you know the truth, maybe you won't be... scared, or you'll know to run away, or..." _

_Ha, does he mean the truth that he'll try to kill me? No, that's not the truth. I let his voice wash over me as I retreat into my own thoughts. The whole story has to be a vile lie. It's disgusting. He must have spoken to someone, heard a story. He thinks repeating my own life back at me will make me trust him. _

_I can't even look at him. My life... the memories I guard so closely... they were the only things I had that were mine. They were my secrets. He's just stolen them, as if it doesn't matter. As if the fear of hearing the voice of madness calling was his, not mine. As if he's the one who has to clap his hands over his ears whenever a thunderstorm scares the horses, or when the birds roost in the roofs. _

_He's offering to help me. The bitter voice in my mind scoffs at the idea. I hate that assumption even more than I hate the lies. He doesn't know what he's talking about. The guards he's seen are the ones who look after us. They break up arguments in the corridors and bring us food when we're locked up. They're not the same as the cold, nameless guards who watch the walls. They're not the same as the mages who never seem to sleep. They're not the same as the prisoners who have been "cured", who lash out with laughing glee at any lurking figure in the shadows. _

_I tried to escape once. I was fifteen, and the healer had given me the final charm in my chain. I'd thought I could handle what I knew they would do to me, but I couldn't. It was the last time I can remember feeling like a person, like I was actually alive. It was before I learned how to die on the inside, how to let my mind soar away from the shell of flesh that was a novelty for them to abuse. I still thought that the only escape was on foot, and I took it. They left me alone for a few minutes, curled up and weeping in pain, and I heard them laughing in the next room with their friends. The officials don't have bars on their windows, and I climbed down with fingers that barely felt the frozen stone crumbling from the walls. It was the stone that saved me, because it broke off in a chunk suddenly and sent me crashing into the outer-courtyard. _

_The guard mages thought I'd jumped. If they'd thought I was trying to escape they would have killed me on the spot, and I would have breathed my last breath on the cold stones, barely two feet from the curtain wall. _

_The sun was setting. I remember that. I hadn't seen the sky in weeks, but the sun painted the clouds pink, and orange, and purple. If I cried it was because of that. I didn't have the tears to waste when they picked me up and slung me over their shoulders, swearing at the extra chore. I had no reason to care that my leg was broken. I didn't show any real reaction when the healer refused to treat it. They strapped it up with a piece of wood and some thick linen, and said I'd be less likely to run away if it healed badly. _

_I was lucky. Thinking back to that escape, it could not have gone any better. I lived. _

_I was alive. My leg healed straight and strong, and I learned how to stop caring. But still, I did miss the sky. Sometimes I wonder what it looks like from another window, from marshland or from a field. I long to see the sun setting without thick iron bars across its face... I have dreams about it. My escape gave me that gift, and took my hope in exchange._

_That is what escaping is. I realise that even if I had the words to waste, I wouldn't bother explaining that to Numair. He repeats my name in a soft, worried voice. I realise I'm staring blankly into space, not hearing him. _

_My name is ash in my ears, and I wish I'd never told it to him. I thought perhaps he would bring me back to life. I was wrong. He'll be dead in a week. He doesn't know how to survive. _

_But he's more alive than I'll ever be._

_My throat closes up, and I nearly choke on the burning acid of bile. I can't yell at him for stealing my story. I can't explain his idiocy. I don't want to see those dark eyes again. Their hopeful concern is a lie, a filthy story that I stupidly let into my world. _

_I stand up suddenly, feeling myself reel dizzily from the sudden movement, and deliberately press down hard on the bandage that covers his wound. He thinks he can escape? He can't even breathe without blood trickling through the cloth. He cries out in agony. I feel no justice in what I do, no revenge, no pity and no regret. I feel nothing. I do it for long enough for it to really hurt, so he'll understand, and then take my hand away and stand, silently looking at him, waiting for his pain to turn against me. _

_I can't breathe. My eyes meet his, and I feel their darkness tear at my heart so savagely that tears spring to my eyes. _

_There is no hatred in his eyes. _

_I see only pity. _

_I spit bitterly at him and turn away. _

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	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Hello to my new readers, and thank-you to my reviewers! Have a chapter. ^_^

888

Chapter 8

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"You seem... different."

Daine stared down at her plate dully for a moment, before realising she was being spoken to and flushing darkly. A week ago... she scolded herself, a few _days _ago... she knew she would have given nothing away. The guard would have grown bored with his questions, because it was like speaking to a stone wall. He might have beaten her, petulant at being ignored, but there would be no malice in it. And now...

Now, she realised, she simply couldn't pretend any more. She couldn't pretend that she didn't hear people talking to her. She couldn't pretend she was someone else, somewhere else. With the whisper of the word _escape _had come a breath of cold air into her stifling world, and suddenly she couldn't tear herself away from the cold reality of the prison. Food had flavour again, and the other people had faces, and voices, and names. They'd been shooed away today, annoying the guard with their giggling, shocked questions about the Hawk Mage until he'd threatened to call an official. They'd skulked off sulkily. Daine had waited, staring meekly at the floor, until the guard returned and cursed loudly at the empty kitchen.

"They've gone and left us with all the sortin' to do." He muttered, but something seemed insincere about his anger. Daine looked up at him through the corner of her eye, and saw that his frown didn't meet his eyes. She looked away quickly as he cut his eyes towards her, and she heard him say, "Well, you have to eat, I reckon. Can't all be livin' off that bird food. We'll see if they come back."

Before she knew it, she was sitting at the end of the long kitchen table, mutely watching him pile cold meat and fresh bread and even some freshly churned butter in front of her. He sat down opposite, took a healthy share and gestured for her to help herself with an impatient expression. Daine hesitated over the unheard of feast, and then noticed one corner of the bread was burned. She moved to tear it off.

The guard snatched the bread away from her, rapidly sawed off a thick slice, spread it with butter and handed it to her. His fingertips were rough against hers when she took it. She met his eyes for a moment in silent thanks, and that was when he told her that she seemed different. The words made her blood run cold. Was the word _escape _written so clearly on her thoughts that the man could see it? She dropped the bread numbly on her plate and felt her nails dig into her palms as she nervously clenched her fists in her lap.

The guard's voice held none of the gentleness of Numair's. He cut off each sentence with abrupt finality. But Daine could hardly believe her ears when he spoke again, and when she looked up the kindness that he couldn't hold in his voice was soft in his expression.

"Mithros' spear, girl, I'm not going to beat you for eating a piece of bread. I figured you'd earned an hour away and some food, that's all. But just an hour, mind..." he looked away, and muttered the last part to himself, "Dakinn will be back after that."

_Dakinn? _Daine had worked out that this guard was the healer's personal assistant, since he always seemed to be following the man around. She'd never heard the healer's name, though. Dakinn. She repeated it to herself a few times as she tore off a corner of the bread and chewed it self-consciously. She couldn't help glancing up curiously, asking silently what had changed, and why the guard was breaking the rules for her. He caught the expression and held her eyes for a moment, his own expression curious until she had to look away. The bread was warm and crackled between her fingers when she tore through the crust.

"I have a sister your age." The guard said in that same absent voice. "I... the night that you were first locked in with the Hawk Mage I went home for a visit. Ellianna was arguing with my ma the whole time I was home. She wanted to go walking with a drover from the next village over. Nice lad, you know, fair pleasant company. Ma wouldn't let her go, though- not alone. She said she was too foolish, too addle-headed to know what she was getting into. Too young." He repeated the words, and then looked over at Daine. The girl was staring at him blankly, her eyes clearly baffled. He cut some meat and cheese for her and piled it on her plate.

"What... what they do to you. I've never thought it was right. The Hawk Mage was right." Daine looked up sharply, and saw the guard was frowning, hands fiddling with the knife he'd cut the cheese with. "They brought you here as a child. Children make mistakes, so why did they decide that you have to make amends like an adult? They have a slip of a prisoner who they lock up with an insane killer, a young girl who they beat and starve and rape and call it _justice_... but those same men would probably agree that my sister is too young to go walking with her drover. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

If Daine looked blank it was because she genuinely had no sensible thoughts in her head. Something in her mind refused to believe that someone was actually speaking to her about this- it had to be some kind of trick or an elaborate trap. The guard's eyes were sharp, and he caught her chin with the flat of his knife when she finally looked up, stopping her from looking away.

"The only person listening in on the things that man tells you is me..._Daine._" He said in an intense whisper. Daine swallowed and felt the point of the blade pricking her throat. Listening spells! Of course the room was spelled. They never bothered with her room anymore, because they knew she didn't speak. But the others... she remembered the mage guards refreshing the spells every few weeks and shuddered. Of course they would listen to the Hawk Mage. As soon as he sounded well enough they would want to snap the chain around his wrist. They wouldn't trust her to make that decision, but they would trust their own ears.

The guard knew that Numair was planning to fight. He knew that she had been offered a chance to escape. He knew her _name. _Daine felt herself growing cold and fought against the urge to shove herself away from the food and run. This wasn't a friendly gesture, this was a last meal. The guard was going to kill her, and this was just his chance to gloat. She stared at him in horror, and through her haze she realised that there was no malice in his face. He held the knife to her throat simply because it was the easiest way he knew to make her look up, and his words were rapid.

"If anyone else... say, Dakinn... thought that you were talking about anything interesting, then they'd take over as quick as you please." The guard snapped the fingers on his free hand. "But they have no taste for stories about golden palaces and rooms full of dusty bones. I think your friend is cleverer than they give him credit for. So... I have nothing to report to them again today, and I'm sure that whatever I hear over the next few days won't be interesting to them, either."

She blinked at him, and he took the knife away. "I can't help you." He said, and for the first time there was some insecurity in his voice. "I want to, but I can't. They choose people whose families live nearby for a reason. But I _can_ give you a few days."

"Why?" She whispered, the word hurting her throat. He started, and barked out a short laugh. He already knew she could speak, so she might as well ask the question, but Daine saw in his eyes an oddly pleased expression. He leaned back and waved a hand in the air, speaking more comfortably with that one word in the air between them than he had managed before.

"I've only been here a few years. You were here before me. I remember the first time I saw you- a tiny chit of a girl, with those big, scared eyes too large for your face, dressed in rags and completely mute. Among all the murderers and psychopaths here, all the ones who have hatred written on their faces... there was a little girl. I couldn't believe it! I thought, maybe you were someone's daughter, or some scullery maid. You couldn't be one of them. So... so I asked the officials."

She met his eyes levelly, knowing exactly what he'd been told. The murders... first the ones in the forest, and then the ones in the town. The madness. The ragged, bloodstained wolf claws that grew from her fingertips when she was angry. The mindless rage that took over, primal and terrifying as it pounced. He was a fool if he hadn't believed them, but she couldn't imagine him speaking to her at all if he had believed it. She sighed and waited for him to make excuses for her crimes, and then looked up in surprise at his careful words. He watched her expression, and seemed to read her thoughts.

"Yes, they told me everything about you. What you did. I don't think you realise that, compared to most of the people we have here, it's very little. The other prisoners... I've met them. They've done... horrible, terrible things. And they _meant _to do them. They laugh and boast about it. Compared to them, you're practically innocent. The officials don't care about a village full of people, it's nothing to them. They keep you here because they're scared of what you _could_ do if you had your magic back. Compared to most people here, it's a _lot._ And it's power that the officials want to keep. To use for themselves. That's why you're all here."

_What? _Daine couldn't believe her ears. _That can't be true! They want mages like Numair, or like the guard mages. I'm nothing to them. They wouldn't care if I died!_

The guard was watching her closely. "Of course, they soon realised you wouldn't use your magic for them. You're scared of it. And you don't _want _to use it, not like the ones who laughed when they melted the flesh from their children's bones. So a decision was made, and things became the way they are now.

Daine remembered Numair's words then, realising that in a few brief days he'd worked out more than she ever had. He'd tried to tell her the same story as this guard. She felt deeply ashamed of her anger at him. What had he said? _I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are vile. I have to stop them. _He hadn't been talking about the guards, or the healer. He hadn't meant that they were vile for keeping him captive, but for running this place in the first place! He'd been talking about the officials. The people who ran the keep. The ones who wanted power. And again, another fragment of that rough, broken voice spoke to her thoughts: _Some people are greedy, and they want more, and they don't care who they hurt to get it. You should understand that more than most people. Do you really think the people who run this place would happily tell other Gallans what they're up to?_

_I should understand that more than most people. _Daine thought, and felt her hands clenching into fists. He'd stopped her from letting her mind escape into the sunset, but now it was trapped with her in the keep and it was _furious_. The silver chain around her wrist was scorched with bronze fire for a split second, and with a loud crack a dark fracture ran across the face of one of the charms.

She looked up, eyes burning, and the guard smiled crookedly. "A few days." He repeated, and waited for her sharp nod before turning away with an odd expression on his face. "Just remember me when you burn this place to the ground, okay?"

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	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Hello to my watchers, old and new, and especially to my new reviewers! Thanks, guys, it's great to know that you're enjoying this story!

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Chapter 9

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Daine rushed to the bed as soon as the door locked behind her. Words spilled from her lips unbidden. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm so stupid! I didn't realise...!" She stopped herself, clapping her hands over her mouth as tears started in her eyes. When the room stopped swimming she saw that the man in the bed was smiling, a gentle expression which forgave everything as easily as breathing. He reached out a hand and took one of hers, and held it in companionable silence. Daine dried her eyes and smiled feebly, unable to stop her eyes darting to the bandage that she hadn't changed since she'd reopened his wound the night before. Dark blood stained the fabric, and she had to swallow back another apology. If she started apologising she wouldn't be able to stop, and he had given his unconditional forgiveness so quickly she thought the words might only offend him.

Why was he like that? She thought back to his story, and wondered if it had something to do with the madness he'd described. He seemed so ashamed of what he did, even though he had no knowledge of it, that this patient charity might be some way to make amends. Somehow, though, she didn't think so. There was something natural about it, as if it were his nature to want to help people – even stubborn, hurtful girls! She realised that she was studying his face and looked away, blushing.

"Daine," he said quietly, breaking the silence, "What happened to your chain?"

_My chain? _She hadn't realised that was the hand that he held, but now he was studying it with wide eyes. Last time he'd seen it he'd worked out what it was for in a few moments; this time, he was asking her. She fiddled with the broken charm that hung, blackened, beside the others.

"I... was angry. Like fire. It burned it." She said. His eyes widened even further, and then narrowed to stare more intently at the broken link. Unbelievably, he started laughing! It was nicer than the strange croaking sound he'd made before, but it still made fresh red blood stain his bandage. Daine yanked her hand away and pressed it over his mouth as she had before, wanting him to stop – and then gasped when he held her hand and kissed it.

"Oh, Daine, that's fantastic!" He said warmly. "I'm so pleased!"

_He must be feverish. _Daine thought, her head spinning. She fetched him the willow bark tea to bring down his temperature. He understood her reasoning straight away and burst into another fit of painful giggles. Pulling a face at her warning glare, he drank some of the tea and cleared his throat.

"Look," he said in a voice which was almost conversational. "If you can break it without even thinking about it, then you can destroy it easily."

She blinked and wrapped her fingers around her chained wrist uneasily. _Break it off? _She bit her lip and felt the links bite into her skin when she instinctively tightened her grip. Fear made her step away, and she pretended she'd thought to build up the fire. _If I break it, then won't the voices come back? _

"Don't you want to get rid of it?" Numair sounded incredulous. She could just imagine the expression on his face! When she turned around he had pushed himself up on his arms, shaking at the effort but needing to make his point. She scowled and went to shove him back, but her action was a lot gentler than she had meant. She couldn't force herself to be harsh with him. The man obediently lay back down, but he caught her hands as she moved them from his shoulders, and pulled her down with him so she was half-lying beside him on the bed. He probably just meant to stop her from turning away again. He wanted her to answer him, and that was all. But for a moment all she could feel was embarrassment that he might feel the pulse racing in her veins.

She met his eyes for a moment, and then felt a tingling blush starting in her stomach and looked away. "I..." she started, and then closed her mouth with a snap. He waited patiently, holding her wrists close to his chest. She could feel his heart beating. It made her feel warm and cold at the same time, as the icy thought of the madness came back and she remembered what she would do if it returned. "I shouldn't. Mustn't. My magic is..." she couldn't find the words! In frustration she closed her eyes.

A gentle hand brushed lightly along her hair, and stroked down her cheek. She kept her eyes shut, head bowed.

"I know. It's frightening." Numair's voice was soft, comforting. His hand stopped, warm palm resting against her cheek. Daine had to stop herself from nuzzling against it, and opened her eyes. He looked back at her, his eyes intense as he looked into her eyes, _through _her eyes, as if he could see what she was feeling, and the girl blushed. He smiled slightly and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"I can see your gift." He told her. "It's... wild and unruly, but you can tame it. You shouldn't be scared of it. It's a part of you, just like your brown hair or those lovely grey eyes. And even with that _thing _on your wrist it's still there, it's just trapped... waiting. It's not going to go away because you're scared of it, or because _they _are."

"I lose myself." She whispered, and wasn't sure if she was talking about the madness or the way her thoughts were flitting about when he touched her. His smile was rueful.

"I can relate. But... well, I can help you with that. If you'll let me."

She gasped, "You can make the voices go away?"

He shrugged and winced when the movement dragged on his wound. "Didn't I tell you I was a powerful mage? Ah, my poor deflated ego... all the effort it put into making those boasts, and the fair damsel wasn't even listening!"

She didn't mind his teasing, her mind was racing. "So it can be _fixed?" _She demanded, needing to know. "It's... it's not my fault?"

"Fault?" He looked away then, for the first time, but not before she caught the glimpse of genuine pain in his eyes. "No, Daine." He said quietly. "It's not your fault."

She touched his pale cheek gently with her fingertips, wishing she could see inside his head the way he could look into hers. She wished that she knew how to help him. There was a click from the door, and she jumped and yanked her hand away as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. It was just someone catching the door as they made their way along the outside corridor, but it took her long moments to calm her racing heartbeat down. Stopping her mind from spinning was another matter entirely.

She gathered up her needle and the alcohol and braced herself to face what she'd done, cringing at the bruises of blood that her hands had printed onto his stomach. She cleaned the blood away gently, every dab a tender apology, and let him to grip her free hand before she began the torture of sewing back the damage. The infection was gone, and she would have felt happier about that if the cruel marks of her petty anger hadn't been so obvious.

"Thank you." He whispered when she'd finished, and she turned away in self-loathing. She expected him to fall asleep again then, like he had done every time she treated his wound, but he fought off the haze of pain for a moment and gripped the edge of her tunic with one bony hand. "Decide what you want. I won't choose for you. Not again."

"Again?" Daine whispered, but he'd passed out.

The man slept for nearly two whole days. Daine paced the tiny room, her own bruises fading as she chewed anxiously on her fingernails and watched the sun drift by the tiny slit of a window. Time was slipping by so quickly – the guard would have nothing to hide, let alone to listen to. And what would she tell Numair when he woke up? Hag's teeth, _everyone_ seemed to want her to escape! As the hours trickled by she wondered how it had happened that the main thing trapping her was her own fear.

By the time Numair opened his eyes, she had made her decision. He accepted the food she gave him sleepily, not meeting her eyes, and ate until he was more awake. For the first time, he lowered his hands uncertainly to the bandages and touched them, a slow smile crossing his face when he saw that the bleeding had stopped. For the first time, the cloth was white, not stained with infection or blood.

"Well done, little healer!" He said in a voice that barely croaked. She handed him the willow tea, but he shook his head and asked if she'd help him to sit up. The girl looked at him dubiously, but he really did seem better. She reluctantly wrapped an arm around his back and let him pull himself upright against the other, slipping the hessian bag behind him so that the knots of his spine wouldn't scrape against the wall. He paled and reeled dizzily for a moment, but looked down at his hands as they were folded in his lap and breathed steadily, eyes serene. The dizziness seemed to fade, and he smiled as he opened his eyes.

"That's better." He said, "I can see you properly now! Hello, beautiful!"

Daine reddened. She couldn't think of the words to respond to his teasing, but made a pantomime of checking his forehead for a fever. He understood the joke and laughed.

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be sincere?" he asked her. Daine paused and shook her head, making sure her incredulous expression didn't waver, no matter how much her heart skipped a beat.

"You: Same words, all women."

"You're right about that. You wouldn't _believe_ how well they work," he said, his voice intense as he leaned forward. "Most women would run screaming from an anthropomorphic bird-monster, but as soon as you compliment them, well..." He sighed and leaned back, "...they still run away screaming."

"Not because of monster-ness. Bad compliments." Daine felt rather proud of herself when that startled a laugh from him. She held out her hand with petulant decision and kept it suspended in the air between them, charms chiming softly. "Take this off, please."

His smile faded a little, although his eyes met her own with warm approval. Instead of taking her hand, he surprised her by asking if he could have the willow tea. She handed him the flask dubiously.

"If you're not well..." she began, and he shook his head impatiently.

"This isn't for me. I need to keep my head clear. As clear as possible, anyway." He muttered the last part and tugged at his nose fretfully as he considered the thin watery liquid in the container. While she watched, fascinated, the man held a hand above the flask and whispered a stream of words. They sounded like raindrops hissing, soft words which poured from his lips into his outstretched palm, and gracefully spun down into the murky depths of the tea in glittering black magic. The tea glowed for a single second like a candle flame, and then faded back to its normal brown colour. He handed it back to her with shaking hands, sweat dewing his forehead.

"There." He said. He bit back a weak laugh when she curiously tilted it towards the fire, wanting to see if it would glitter with magic in the firelight. "You're supposed to drink it, not stare at it! Oh, but sit down first."

"It?" Daine asked, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to him. The man made a mystical gesture in the air.

"The magic potion!" he declaimed like a player, and then relented. "Well, it's willow tea. I just put some dormant gift into it. Your... the chain won't let you use your gift; it's linked to your body. And it won't let someone else use _their _gift to take it off, or to use magic on you. The healer told me that. I don't think he meant to, but... well, he's an idiot. I reasoned that, if you drink it, we have a way to get someone _else's_ magic inside you. The chain won't fight it from the inside, and it won't recognise it as outside magic until it's already in your stomach. It'd be really easy to break the chain from there. You have the power to fight it, you just have to want the magic to fight for you and it will."

"Will it work?" She asked doubtfully, sniffing at the tea. It smelled bitter, chalky. Numair looked embarrassed by the question, and his answer was quiet.

"Yes. I made sure. I tested it."

She blinked, and then worked it out. "You said you just made me sleep."

"I lied." He looked at her, his eyes artless, unapologetic. "I knew it wouldn't hurt you. It was only a little. Enough to crack one charm, it seems." She looked down into the flask, and he tapped the metal with one long finger. "This is stronger, a lot stronger. But you still have to call the magic once you've drunk it."

"It's _your _magic!" she replied, not sure how she felt. She _was_ sure that she didn't know how to do _any _of the things he was telling her. "You call it."

He smiled wanly and looked away. His voice echoed back from the stone wall, and she couldn't read his expression. "My magic won't listen to me anymore, Daine."

She hesitated for a brief moment, and then raised the flask to her lips. By the time he looked back around, she had drunk every drop of the tea and was pulling a face at the bitter willow-taste. She couldn't feel anything. She had thought perhaps she'd feel the heat of his magic burning her throat, or a rush of strength as if she'd just had a nap. But there was nothing- just the chalky tea.

The girl shut her eyes and tried to work out if she felt any different. Every time her skin itched or a breeze raised goosebumps she wondered if it was the spell. Then she tried asking it, like he'd said. She spoke inside her head, asking it nicely to help her. She nudged her thoughts towards her wrist and imagined it falling off. She used words, describing melting metal and crumbling coins.

Nothing.

She looked dully at the chain, wondering if Numair was wrong. Why had she felt so hopeful? This was hopeless! She might as well plead with the gods to kidnap her away. At least they would actually listen! She coiled a link of the chain around one finger and felt like a failure.

"You have to call it." Numair said gently. She looked around, her eyes wide and childlike.

"I don't know how!"

He couldn't hide the odd expression which flitted across his face for a moment, although she had no idea what it meant. He hesitated, and then pushed himself across the bed so she could sit comfortably beside him.

"I'll show you. Help you. Of course these idiots didn't teach you anything." He muttered the last part with bitter irony and took the flask from her. "Daine, I thought that you would be able to... because you did it before. That was my mistake, and it's not your fault. But it means that this won't be as easy as... as I described it."

She raised an eyebrow but, honestly, wasn't surprised. If she thought she could escape her chains by drinking willow tea she'd have stripped every tree of its bark from here to Carthak! Still, his expression was oddly fearful, and he flexed his fingers unconsciously as he folded them in his lap.

"You have to promise me," he said, "That if I... if... if anything happens, you won't hesitate to fight back. There'll be no point in pleading with me. I don't understand human words, and I won't recognise you. If you have to kill me to save yourself, then don't hesitate. You'll have your magic back, and you can use it to escape from this place."

She stared at him, aghast, realising that he was more worried about her escaping than his own safety. She'd thought - even if she'd refused to admit it – that he was using her to make it easier for him to escape. Even if he didn't care about her, he'd need her on his side if he was to get strong enough to fight his way free. She was caring for him, feeding him, bringing him water to drink. All she had to do was snap the gold chain around his wrist and he'd be trapped here forever. She hadn't let herself believe he was nurturing their friendship for anything other than selfish reasons. Not truly.

He misread her stunned expression and took hold of her hand, meaning the gesture to be reassuring. "It's alright, little one." He said, "You don't have to do this. If it's too much – too dangerous – then I understand. You're allowed to change your mind, you know!"

His hand was warm in hers, and she couldn't breathe. Without thinking about it, she leaned forward and kissed him, feeling him freeze in complete surprise. Flushing, she moved to pull away, only to find that his hand had crept up to the nape of her neck, and he was drawing her closer. Where her kiss had been impulsive and fleeting, his was slow and infinitely gentle. He hesitated for a moment, as if he was going to ask something, and then his lips met hers and there were no more words. Daine shivered as her skin burned everywhere he was touching her, wanting to hold on to the moment forever. For the first time in her adult life she felt cherished, understood, even though she knew more about her guards than about the man whose hair felt like silk when she tangled her hands in it. She drowned in light, in warmth and darkness, until the traitor thought dragged her back to the surface.

_He doesn't love me. He thinks he's going to die. _The traitor thought said coldly, and she dragged herself back, blushing furiously. _Of course he doesn't love me. Why would I even think that? I shouldn't be hurt by the idea that he __doesn't._

Numair was stroking the soft hair at the nape of her neck, and her skin tingled deliciously even as she made an effort to square her shoulders and find the kind of words she knew how to say.

"I won't change my mind. Ever. I'm not afraid if you're not."

"I'm terrified." He said softly. Daine smiled weakly at the admission and bowed her head.

"Me too." She sighed and kissed his cheek, feeling the roughness of stubble under her lips and the heartbeat racing beneath it. "Show me the magic."

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	10. Chapter 10

Update A/N: Thank you Sweetmari for the suggestion! I've made the correction, and you're right- it works so much better! Thanks again.

Original A/N: Hi to all my reviewers! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, it's a bit longer than normal to make up for it! Enjoy, read, and please review!

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Chapter 10

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_I don't want to do this. _

_Her hand rests in mine with the same innocent trust that made her drink the potion I gave her. Her eyes are closed, dark lashes making soft crescents on her cheeks, and she breathes evenly the way I showed her. I envy her the quiet peace. I can't force my own eyes to close, however much I try. I watch her, and see all the ways I could hurt her. _

_We have not begun. Not yet. All I have to do is close my eyes and meditate, and there will be no turning back. We have not started. I don't want to begin. All I have to do is meditate, and the hawk will be freed from its cage. I have kept it there, trapped, for weeks now. It rested patiently for long days, but now it beats against my core like the wild creature it is. Shutting my eyes will be like turning the key in the lock- just half a turn, but the hawk is cunning, and has tricked me before. It is a part of me, after all. It is clever._

_Then, I hear you ask, why did I suggest this? What made me coax Daine into doing something so dangerous, only to back out now? I have a thousand answers. I hoped it wouldn't be needed. I thought I could trust her to kill me. The coldness in her eyes when she pressed down on my sword-cut told me she wouldn't hesitate. But now... I made her promise, but I couldn't believe her words. They weren't empty. They held trust and warmth and hope and something else I don't dare name, but no sincerity. I couldn't believe them. _

_I look at her, and think of all the ways I could kill her. She has tilted her head to one side as she meditates, resting her cheek on one palm, and the childish posture makes her look ridiculously vulnerable. She is like a Yamani doll, a strange fragile creature caught in a web of violent monsters, and my heart turns over at the thought. Alanna used to roll her eyes at me for being defensive of women and call it a 'white-knight act', but this seems different. _

_I don't want to do this. I want to kiss her again, and hold her tightly, and tell her everything will be alright. I want her to fall asleep in my arms and wake up smiling rather than cringing away from every sound. I want to hear her laugh, and speak, and sing. _

_These are all things that are impossible. If we don't escape, then we'll be separated the very instant the officials think I am tamed. Perhaps even sooner, if they realise what we're doing now. We'll spend the rest of our lives catching glimpses of each other across distant courtyards, and hearing each others' screams when they whip us for defying orders. How can I spend these precious hours comforting my friend, when we'd both know all too well that every word is a lie? That was why she spat at me when I asked her to escape with me, really. Words like __hope __and __freedom__ and __help__ have no place here. _

_I steel myself and close my eyes. Meditating is second-nature to me, even after years of avoiding it, and it only takes me a minute or so to find my centre. I remember when it was beautiful, a core of black light which flickered in opalescent wonder. I used to love meditating, finding the smallest flaws to focus on, to tame, so I could stare into the black colours and wonder at the fact that they were mine. Red, purple, deep blue and green, flashes of yellow and darts of silver made a glorious oil-painting that only I could ever see. _

_Now... now, I look into my core and shudder. The hawk flies there, darting from creeping tendril to barbed black vine, and its bronze feathers fall away from its frantic wings to stab into my heart like knives. Each one writhes, claws at my core, trying to snatch even more away from me. It's a riot of black and bronze, of comforting darkness and terrifying light. I don't want to stay here, but I must. I creep into the world which was once my own, and tease a fretful thread of my gift from the very edge of my core. I have tricked the hawk this way before, but it is always ready to pounce. I draw away silently and the thread follows me – enough to link me to Daine, but (please, please!) not enough to betray me. I have already played this trick once today, when I spelled the tea, and the hawk learns rapidly. _

_The gift Daine drank in the potion calls out to me, and in the world of glowing flames I find her easily. She flickers in and out of her core like a ghost, not able to meditate well enough on her own to keep her shape, and I catch hold of her floating shade. _

_-It's okay.- I tell her when she instinctively struggles. –It's me. Breathe.-_

_She- the mortal Daine whose hand I hold- takes a shuddering breath and then tries again, her shade becoming more solid as she relaxes. While I wait for her I study her core. It's..._

_... it's familiar, because it looks exactly like mine, if the shades were reversed. My black fire lurks around the outside of a bronze core, which spits and sparks like a badly-built campfire. The bronze fire bleeds into everything. Every cell of her body is swamped in it, but she doesn't have any control over it. It shivers from her mind to her heart to her fingertips without warning. It bleeds into the part of her that is human, and the glowing centre flickers under the assault. _

_The shade moves in my arms, and looks around with confused eyes. –What is this place?-_

_-You said you lose yourself in your magic.- I say urgently, -What shape does it take?-_

_There are no secrets here; any thought springs instantly into words unless you know how to hide it. Daine doesn't, of course, but even her thoughts hesitate at putting it into words. –A... a wolf.-_

_-Fantastic. It's never a duckling, is it? – The sarcasm doesn't quite work in a mind-voice, but Daine still picks up on it and bites her lip apologetically. I force myself to smile. _

_-There's been a slight change of plan, little one.- I say. –Before we break off the charm we need to tidy up this mess! It's really, really out of control.- _

_I don't mention how similar it looks to my own magic, but at least I have some control over mine! If I break the chain off her with her magic like this, she might burn up in front of my eyes! Even locking all of this behind a chain must have been agony for her. _

_-Okay...- she says, her voice hesitant but trusting. –What do I do?-_

_I pause, and then ask her flatly, -Where's the wolf hiding?-_

_She points instinctively, and then gasps and covers her face. Her thoughts stream out in a panicked rush. –How did I know that? What wolf? There's a wolf? A real wolf?-_

_-Not real. Well, real enough for us.- I say grimly. She'd pointed to her human-core. Well, of course she had. Why would this be easy? I study the pool of white light carefully. Four large darts of copper and a wolf. The darts would be easy enough to break free, but... _

_-I need you to lure it away.- I tell her. –For long enough for me to get rid of those copper lines. Then, as soon as I say so, you need to __run. __If it catches you then you'll lose yourself again. In one touch. Do you understand?-_

_She bites her lip and nods, her shade flickering as the anxiety makes her lose her focus. I smile suddenly, reaching out a hand to touch her translucent shoulder. _

_-I remember my very first magic lesson. I had to light a candle on fire. It blew up. I don't think I'd have managed to meditate properly in the first place, let alone agree to take on a magical wolf by myself. Have you ever considered a career as a mage?- I ask lightly. She laughs abruptly, and her shade solidifies. _

_-I've never considered a career, full stop!- she retorts. I realise that she sounds different. Her words are easier and far less stilted when she can speak them in silence. I bow my head in acknowledgement of her point, and then raise my head to smirk at her. _

_-Well, little one, I think we can name you an honorary mage. Or a little mage, at least. A magelet?- She scowls at me, and I grin. –Magelet it is! Well then, Magelet...- _

_- I almost prefer 'little one'...- she mutters, and takes my arm with fatalistic joviality. 'Come on, dolt, let's go and find my wolf.- _

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_A wolf?_

_A real wolf?_

_Wolves don't scare me, normally. But this one does. I know it will have burning eyes and bloody claws, and its fur will be exactly the same shade as my hair. _

_This place is beautiful, even though it scares me. I feel instinctively that it's a part of myself, the part that has been locked away from me for eight years, and my curiosity about it overcomes my fear. I __want__ to get closer to the glowing white core, to the part of it that feels safe and homely, even though I can hear the ominous low growl of a trapped wild animal lurking within it. Numair hasn't tried to explain anything to me. Perhaps he thinks I won't understand, or it will scare me. But I feel more confident with every step I take. _

_This is me. This is who I am. This place belongs to me, not to my madness, and we are here to reclaim it. _

_Numair's hold on my arm gives me strength, stopping me from dissolving into fragments of light every time my focus wavers. I look at him curiously. His shade is more than the skeletal, frail mortal who I've been nursing. Here, he stands straight and walks steadily. He is tall, but doesn't loom or hunch his shoulders like many tall people do. He looks down from time to time, but I make sure I'm always looking away before he can meet my eyes. I don't want to know what I look like here. It's his nature to be strong and confident, and mine is to shrink away. _

_Not from the wolf, though. The closer I get, the more I'm convinced that I can tame it. It growls softly, but I hear the voice of the pack in its voice, and want to get closer to it. I remember the sharp muskiness of fur, the thick greasy warmth of lying in a den with heavy paws resting gently on my shoulders. Numair glances sideways at me, and a line appears between his eyes. _

_-Don't let it touch you,- he repeats himself, and then adds, more insistently, -Not even its voice. Fight against it. Remember what it made you do. Remember everything. Even if it hurts. __Especially__ if it hurts.- he doesn't say anything else, but his hand tightens around my elbow for a second, and he leaves my side. _

_I remember then, for a brief shining second, the scream that Cloud made when the butcher slammed the slaughterhouse gate behind him. I remember the smell of blood and smoke and the laughter of the officials. A wave of nausea rises in my throat, and tears spring to my eyes. The wolf growls darkly and I realise I loathe it. More than I fear it, I hate it. _

_I take five quick steps towards it, and rest my hands on my hips. The growl drowns out all other sounds, but I still can't see it. _

_-Come on then, you vile thing.- I yell, -Here I am!- _

_With a snarl, it launches itself at me. I throw myself to one side, rolling on the fire-laced ground, and laugh mockingly at it. –Is that all you can do? You're pathetic!- _

_-I said lure it away, not goad it!- Numair yells, but I laugh again and dodge another attack. Teeth snap close to my arm, but I dance away on light feet and the shining fangs turn into copper fire. Out of the corner of my eye I see the mage slip unnoticed towards the white core, and throw myself backwards. The wolf follows me, keening in pure fury, and I skip around it in mocking circles. It shakes its head, dizzy, and looks up. _

_The glowing eyes catch me for a second, and I am frozen. I can't look away! Its growl grows richer, honeyed in the gaping silence, and I feel it vibrating in my chest. It's a strange rumble... is the wolf growling, or is it me? I'm growling back, frozen and primal, primitive and wild. The red eyes are mine, and show me everything about myself that I hate, and as the creature stalks closer I snarl at it. _

_-Daine!- Numair's voice breaks through the haze for a brief second. I shake my head, and out of the corner of my eye I see the glowing core, freed from the bronze tendrils, blazing in sudden pure light. I shake my head and grit my teeth. They ache as they shrink from pointed canines into human molars. The wolf is inches away when my sight clears, and I throw myself backwards in blind panic. I stumble and fall. The wolf springs, and I roll sideways to avoid it, gasping. A bronze tangle of fire whips at me, sinking barbed thorns into my hands as I stagger to my feet. As it touches my fingers they whisper into feathers. _

_-No...- I whisper, watching my hands warp into sickening deformity. I can't remember what they're supposed to be like... and how would I turn them back? The tendril lashes around my wrist, then my waist, and wherever it touches me I glow with the bronze light which steals away my human form. I can't even think of the word __help. __All I know is fear, and the dizzy feeling of being forced to shapeshift against my will. It's like falling, too fast and too brutal to do anything but destroy me. I retch and try to pull away, but how can I when every muscle is shrinking and shifting?_

_The wolf pads closer, sated now I am trapped. Its eyes watch with something like satisfaction. Its fur is soft around its nose. I reach out a hand to it. Soft. Safe. Friendly. Let me be... _

_A ragged bolt of black lightning stabs into the wolf's side, and we both scream as our ribs explode in burning pain. The creature darts away, howling, snarling, ready to attack again. I sag against the vines which hold me upright, barely conscious, knowing only the pain and the constant shifting as a thin, shaking hand grabs my free wrist and pulls. The vines shrink away from the human intruder, who burns with so much black fire, and I am free. I fall to my knees and retch helplessly, shuddering back into human form. _

_-Daine...- the human says urgently, -I did it! You're safe, but you have to get out of here!-_

_I blink blearily at him. What is the human yelling about? I look around for the wolf, but it is hiding. I snarl at the human and snap at his hand, and he shakes me in reply._

_- Wake up! You have to...you...- the human man looks up and covers his head as a massive black hawk swoops down. It screams in the voice of a man, but he cries back at it in the voice of a bird of prey. The black fire that surrounds him reaches out to the creature, thick tarry ropes which stick to his hands and drag the two fiery black forms into each others' embrace. _

_And then I remember, and reach up a hand to him. I feel blind panic dragging me back to my body even before, in his last moment of freedom, Numair sends a bolt of light back towards me. It strikes me between the eyes, and the world of fire vanishes like smoke. _

"_No...!" I cry, forcing my eyes back shut to scare away the real world. I can't get back to that place without his help. On the bed next to me, the mage shudders, eyes shut, as if he's having a fit. I grab his shoulders and shake him, trying to wake him up, but my hands sink into the softness of feathers that burst from the skin under his shirt. He shrinks away from my hands, shadows crossing his face as he bites his lip. I see the red of blood froth at the corners of his mouth, and then he starts seizing in earnest. _

_Feathers spring from his flesh and then shrink back, his muscles spasm and twist and his hands twist into claws and back in each harsh breath he gasps in. I remember what he told me, to kill him, but I can't move. He strikes out blindly, fighting his own battle as well as against me, and his new claws catch me across the forehead. I shake the blood out of my eyes and force myself to grab his wrists. I know I shouldn't even try to hold him still when he's bigger and stronger than me. But what else can I do?_

_I can't kill him. I won't. I can't. _

_I feel tears on my cheeks, hot and wet, the salt stinging my cheeks. I hold his wrists with hands that are already aching with the effort, and know that I can't hold him forever. The feathers are staying now. He's losing his battle. Soon there'll be nothing left to stop him from attacking me. Numair will be gone, and the hawk will remain. _

_I shut my eyes and feel the barbs of the feathers growing under my clutching fingers. "Numair..." I whisper, I pray, I breathe. "Numair, don't leave me. Don't. Don't..."_

_There's a bright light, so fierce my eyes dart open of their own accord. This must be it. The part of him that's a monster, a mage-creature, ready to kill me. I stare down dumbly. The light... _

_The light... it's fire. Copper fire, brighter than a fire flame, streams from my hands into his wrists in a sudden rush. I feel it flowing from me, draining strength from my fingertips, but even when my grip lessens I can't let go. The fire fuses us together, and copper light seeps into black feathers until both become a shining blur. _

_Sound rushes back into my ears, and the black from the feathers grows into a wall of darkness until I pass out. _

**End of Part 1**

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	11. Part 2: Chapter 1

A/N: (posted in previous chapter too): Thank you Sweetmari for the suggestion! I've made the correction, and you're right- it works so much better! Thanks again. This chapter's for you- thank you. All my other reviewers: thank you very much! Well, we made it through Part 1! On to Part 2!

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**Asylum: Part 2**

Chapter 1

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They told her that he had died.

As soon as her eyes flickered open they swooped across, glee written on their faces as they pushed at each other, eager to be the first to tell her the news. There was no privacy in the healer's treatment room; other patients peered curiously at her from their beds as she turned her face away from the officials and buried it in the pillow. They told each other that her shoulders moved in a sob, or that her face was white. Either could have been true, but there was one story they knew no-one would believe. No-one dared to say they heard her cry. They knew that no-one would believe them.

Daine didn't tell herself any stories. She didn't have the strength to sit up in her bed, but once she was left alone she drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them protectively. The gesture felt a little strange. She did it by instinct whenever she felt unsafe, which had been several times a day before... before _all this. _But she couldn't remember doing it once when she was with him. Oh yes, when she didn't know the hawk was a man, and she didn't know the man was a person. _Then_, she could remember huddling by the fire in fear. But afterwards...? She swallowed back the dry pain in her throat when she remembered lying next to him, his fingers gently brushing along her wrist as he shaped the palaces of Carthak in the quiet firelight.

_Forget him. _She told herself harshly, swallowing so hard it felt like she was going to choke. _Forget it. It's finished. Don't let them see you cry. _

Why cry? The officials wanted to see it, to claim each bitter tear as it curved down her cheek. But what would be the point? There would be no careful fingertips, hesitantly wiping the tears away. There would be no soft words of comfort. _Forget him. _

They had decided not to kill her. They told her that, the next time they gathered around her to gloat. Their black robes looked like the wings of hawks, and their voices were deeper than growling wolves. Daine didn't look at them. She listened, eyes shut, hands wrapped around her knees, as they described the three days she'd been asleep. The discussions they'd had – in raised voices, and sharp words! – where they'd decided not to kill her. The hawk mage had died, but they knew she'd tried to save him.

They knew she'd used her _magic, _they said. Daine remembered the copper fire streaming out of her hands and shuddered. Was that what it had been: her magic?

Of course, they told her, it didn't work because of the charms around her wrist. _And besides, whoever was healed with a little bit of wild magic? No-one! You stupid girl. But we know you tried. That counts for something, we guess. _

Daine unconsciously wrapped a finger around her chain and they laughed. She released the cold silver as if it burned her, and they laughed harder.

_You spent all your magic, and for what? He wasn't breathing when we came in. We thought you were dead, too, but then one of the guards checked your pulse. It seems you're a hard one to kill. _

Daine squeezed her eyes shut tight and resisted the urge to press her hands over her ears. She didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want to hear how they'd found her, hands entwined in Numair's as if she could pull him back from the Black God's embrace. She didn't want to hear how they'd all come to stare at the strange scene before they even thought to check, to see if either prisoner still lived. She didn't want to hear how his fingers had been icy cold when they broke them away from her own. She didn't want to hear how they'd thrown his body to the pigs. She didn't... she couldn't. And so she tried to escape inside her own mind, as she had so many times before. But this time all she could hear was the whisper of her dead friend's voice, hopeful and caring and gone forever. This time, she did cry.

It seemed to satisfy the officials. They sniggered, and soon grew bored, and left.

It was another two days before Daine was well enough to walk. She was escorted back to her cell for a last night's sleep. In the morning, the guard told her, her duties would return to normal. She nodded mutely and heard the door click behind her.

Normal. The tiny stub of candle they'd given her lit up the bare walls, the bed and the shelf with the few brightly coloured feathers she'd collected over the years. Normal. The floor was cold and hurt the soles of her feet, and her footsteps were overloud in the frozen silence. Normal.

She put the candle down on the shelf and rested her head in her hands. She remembered without wanting to. She remembered the soft warmth of his lips, the dusky scent of his skin and the husky rumble of his voice. Normal.

Hot tears dripped between her fingertips and froze on the icy stone floor. Deep, bitter heat rose in her stomach and tried to choke her. Her nails drew blood from her cheeks as they stiffened and flexed in animal rage.

He was dead.

Nothing would ever be normal again.

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They told him that she had died.

"I don't believe you." He said, and that was the end of it. They hadn't prepared a story. They were so used to power that it hadn't occurred to them that one of the slaves might argue. It didn't matter to them whether he believed them or not. He was as weak as a newborn kitten, but the wound on his stomach had healed into a harmless red scar. They didn't ask where his weakness had come from. They didn't dare do anything except snap the gold chain around his wrist the moment his eyes started to open.

They expected his skin to burn, like it had with the other wild creature. Her magic had consumed her: so out of control that it had nearly destroyed her. They expected the same from this man, but their curious eyes saw only a wash of tiredness, and renewed weakness.

Numair was surprised as well, but he didn't have the strength to wonder why. He didn't know why he was still human in the first place. He wasn't going to risk transforming just for another peek into his core. He couldn't remember anything that had happened after the hawk had swooped down at him, and the officials wouldn't – or couldn't – tell him.

The only person who would know was Daine. He asked where she was. They told him she had died, but their eyes skidded away, and their voices were too quick. He laughed and shook his head until they scowled and told him they didn't care if he believed them or not, he would never see her again either way. That sobered him, and he rested his aching head in his hands and tried to think.

_What happened? _

_He should be a monster. Right now, he should be tearing through these pitiful human creatures with laughing talons, not lying here wrapped in feeble gold chains. _

_What happened?_

_He'd felt the sharp claws in his mind, tearing through his sanity like a knife. He'd heard his own answer, gleeful and wild. He'd reached out black wings towards the shining bird. And then... then... _

_He never heard words. He never heard people pleading with him, or shouting at him. Their mouths flapped open like comical puppets and he laughed at their sounds. But... _

_He had heard her voice. Harsh sounds in unpractised words. A soft voice with a Gallan burr. He had __heard __her calling to him. He turned away from the bird, and it screamed in fury. He was about to turn back, to soothe it, when she cried out again. The words were wild, pleading, and he felt his heart wrench at their desperation. _

"_Don't leave me. Don't. Don't..."_

_He turned around, wanting to be with her, to tell her that he was fine, that she should get away from the hawk. As soon as he turned around, light surrounded him: a flood of copper which bathed the dark tar of his feathered hands until the wings were washed away. His own hands looked bare, naked in the golden glow, and as he stared at them the light formed a hand, a hundred hands, holding onto his and pulling him away from the bird. The hawk beat futilely against the shell of copper but could not break through. Protected by her delicate copper hands, Numair was dragged back to the surface. There was no skill or delicacy in the magic, and the shock of being slammed back into his own body was too much for his ravaged spirit to handle. He blacked out. _

Numair remembered all of this, the visions crystal clear in his suddenly-safe mind. Hesitantly he let himself meditate. He had barely closed his eyes before he saw the light, dimmer now but still strong, guarding his mind from the hawk.

He opened his eyes and frowned, tugging at his nose with rubbery fingers. How had she done it? She didn't even know how to meditate! How had she managed to break a curse which had been haunting him for years? No... he amended the thought... it wasn't broken. The copper light had faded. She'd protected him, but it wouldn't last forever. The hawk would return.

Still, it was incredible!

He linked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, his eyes already feeling heavy after being awake for a few scant minutes. For the first time in years he felt the strange flicker of hope fluttering in his chest. The bird was caged. He could be himself again. He could be human. He could be free.

The chain cut into the back of his neck and he frowned, awoken by the pain. The chain...he held his hand up to stare at it. Yes, it was stronger than the one Daine had broken. He could see that just by looking at the number of charms that were strung to the sturdy gold links. Even now he could feel it leeching strength from his bones as it blocked magic from the end of every vein. It would take someone else to break it. But...

... But Daine still had his magic. Well, some of it. Enough to break her silver chain off. And then what? Numair scratched his chin thoughtfully, realising with wry humour that while he'd been unconscious someone had thought to wash and shave him. Then, she would still be trapped in this prison, but with magic she didn't know how to control. He'd done enough that it would never control her again, but that didn't mean she'd know how to use it. She'd be almost as dangerous as before. Dangerous... to other people, possibly. But there was no question that the person most in danger was Daine herself. She'd have to be angry to break it. Furious, like she'd said before: angry, like a fire.

He bit his lip and shut his eyes tight, making his decision as firm in his mind as he could before sleep stole him away again. He had to escape. He had to help her. And it had to be soon. He had a sinking feeling that time was running out. What would make her angry enough to break the charm?

He remembered the odd softness in her grey eyes, and the impulsive way she'd kissed him. He remembered his own surprise. He remembered the rush of heat that made him almost dizzy, and the way he'd kissed her back without needing a second more to think about it. Something about being with her just felt right. 

It was captor's syndrome, he told himself. He'd read about it when he was at university: the way that captives turned to their captors. He told himself that it would fade as soon as they were free, and that she would turn away from him the second a young swain caught her eye. She would soon find out that not everyone in the world would starve her of human kindness. It would take no more than a few smiles to coax her away from him, and then the Hawk Mage would be alone again. And he would be fine with that, Numair told himself steadily, not noticing his hand closing into a fist. He would be fine with that, because he only cared about her because she had been his captor.

He told himself all this, and didn't believe a word of it. As he was falling asleep, a horrifying thought woke him up again, and he clenched both fists so hard the chain drew blood from his palm.

What would make her angry? What would make him furious, if for a single second he'd believed it was true?

He heard the words, crystal clear in his too-sane mind, and the copper fire seemed to crackle angrily in his ears.

_They'll tell her that I'm dead. _

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	12. Part 2: Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to Lollypops101, sweetmari and ofnoreturn for the reviews! It's great to hear from you guys. Hello to all my new +watchers as well! Have a new chapter.

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Chapter 2

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Daine picked stones from the hoof of the massive plough-horse, keeping her face carefully blank. The guard had wandered away, bored, and was flirting with one of the farm maids who giggled as she swung her bucket of chicken feed. Around her, the chickens gobbled in excitement, but she obliviously ignored them. Daine wedged the pick more firmly against a particularly cruel stone and pulled. The farm animals had been neglected since she'd been away, and the horse sighed in relief when the stone finally came free. She scowled at the raw flesh underneath it, and slathered some goose-fat into the gap. There was little else she could do, except hope that it wouldn't get infected. She silently cursed the lazy farm maid and stood up.

The other woman glanced at her contemptuously and turned a beaming smile on the guard. "How-_ever_ do you stop that little rat from scurrying away? Is that where she's been all this time?"

The guard looked over his shoulder at Daine, and shrugged. "Nah. Doesn't try to escape, that one."

Daine looked at her feet and scuffed her toes against the wisps of straw on the floor, hearing the heavy manacles clink as they knocked against the stones. She sneered inwardly at the guard's bravado. She wondered if he'd be so brave, so nonchalant, if they didn't wrap her in irons before they marched her to the tithing farms.

It had been one of her favourite things, before. She was hurried between the five farms in the valley once a week. Her feet bled from the thorns and stones on the mountain trails, but for a few hours she was outside, and in the fresh air under the open sky. The farmers hated her, staring at her with mistrust, and the officials played on their fear by ordering that she dress in rags every time she was outside. She would never blend in to a market or be able to duck into a tavern, not dressed like that, and it was easier for the farmers to hate her when she looked like a creature.

Today, the torn scraps of fabric had a better purpose. Seeing that the guard's eyes were once again fixed on the maid's rather generous (and conspicuously exposed) figure, Daine quickly tucked the hoof-pick into a hastily knotted pocket she'd fashioned on the hike up the hill. Among all the oddments of material, the bulge of the sharp tool was barely visible. She smiled to herself as she hid it away. It was too easy! She'd been planning it for days, but now she'd actually stolen a weapon it seemed laughably simple.

Still, she still had to get away before the maid noticed it was missing...

Daine carefully tangled her foot in the milking stool she'd been sitting on and fell forward, clattering loudly against the stone floor with a harsh intake of breath. Straw flew through the air as the maid and the guard whirled around. The other woman laughed suddenly, pointing and crowing at the clumsy slave. The guard cursed and yanked her to her feet by her elbow, shaking her harshly.

_Did I spoil your mood? _Daine asked him silently, feeling amused despite herself. She kept her mockery out of her face, and stood mute. The guard swore at her and dragged her away, making a show of his power over her. The maid batted her eyelashes at him and waved a farewell, caught up by the display.

"Stupid, clumsy bitch." The guard spat, hurling her forwards and sending her sprawling into the mud. Sharp, frozen shards of gritty dirt cut into her hands as she threw them out to protect herself, and the chain made a delicate imprint on one of her handprints. She stared at it, dragging herself upright before the guard grabbed her again and setting off down the trail. He followed her, shoving her forward from time to time, but once they'd cleared the farmland he stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

_She's not watching you. _Daine thought cynically. _She flirts with all the guards. You're not special. _

She felt the cold weight of the sharp hoof pick swinging against her leg and couldn't hide a smile. They were far away enough now that even if the maid had noticed, she wouldn't want to catch them up just to ask if the creature had stolen it. The sharp point pricked tiny holes in her thigh. It was the biting promise of things to come.

Daine vaguely remembered overhearing one of the guards telling a new recruit that he needed to wet his sword. After a few crude comments they had started talking about the phrase- the idea that a new weapon should be bathed in blood, as if it were a child being born into a violent world. It was an old tradition- a kind of magic that was barbaric and exciting. The soldiers laughed about it. Daine liked the idea. She relished the pain, and the promise of all the blood to be drawn.

She had planned carefully, but throughout all of it there was a red haze. She wanted blood. She wanted to punish them for everything they had done, and everything they had said. She wanted them to suffer. She wanted them to feel the pain of Numair's death as keenly as she did, in all its agonising, hollow rawness. The tide of desperate fury waxed and waned in her mind, and she found she could think quite clearly. It had been a week since she'd resumed her normal life, and she felt stronger than she ever had before.

There was one thing left to do, and she planned to do it tonight. No matter how long it took, she knew she had to break off the chain. The guard brought her back to the castle just as the light was fading, and locked her in her cell without so much as a word. She stripped off her stinking rags and pulled on her tunic and leggings impatiently, tucked the hoof pick under her belt, and then sat in a tailor's seat on the floor. The stone stung her with cold even through the cloth, but she didn't mind. She needed something to draw her back into the real world.

She closed her eyes, and started to meditate.

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The door crashed open, and her eyes flew open with it. She stared around at the guard, her expression frantic as the man strode in. He had to do a double-take when he saw the prisoner sitting cross-legged on the floor, but didn't say anything.

Daine drew a gasping breath, pressing frozen palms to her temples with her eyes rolling wildly. A hundred, thousand voices shrieked in her mind. She didn't know how to make them be still! Her own thoughts shrank away, barely audible behind the laughing and crying and speaking and screaming, but she understood the most persistent one as if her bleeding ears could really hear it: _This was a bad idea! _

The guard didn't notice. It was dark in her cell, and his scowl only deepened at her reaction. Perhaps he thought she was scared. He reached out to grab her wrist, to drag her out of the room, and she pushed at him with shaking hands.

"D...don't..." she stumbled, the words a harsh croak. His eyebrows flew up at the sound of her voice, but he simply laughed and dragged her away. This would be a fine story to tell the other guards! They had heard the wild creature had found its voice, but they would laugh to find out that the girl was a coward. She staggered after him, nearly blind even in the torch-lit corridors.

"You'd better not be sick again." The man growled, shoving her towards the door. "They won't stand for it. Too much feeling sorry for yourself, miss, is a bad thing."

Daine pulled away from him instinctively, terrified beyond sense. She barely knew what was going on. Half of her mind was taken up with the voices, and the flood of copper light which blazed from every shadow and blinded her. The other half knew, vaguely, that she was being dragged, that she was being yelled at, and that the silver chain was sliding slowly off her wrist. Several links were warped and twisted, and each charm was blackened beyond recognition. In the blaze of copper light it glittered with black fire, insidious and dark.

_Click._

A wool carpet was soft underfoot, and the room was warm. She blinked frantically, trying to clear her eyes, but the man was a grotesque blur topped with leering green glassy eyes.

"Remember me?" The liquid shape oozed closer, and the eyes swam into focus. It pressed pudgy fingers to a fleshy cheek, and smiled humourlessly. "I'm all healed up now. As are you, I hear."

An official. Familiar, even as a monster. Words. _I can't let things carry on as they are. These people are vile. I have to stop them. _Not her own words, she realised, but they were piercing in the miasma of her screaming mind. She felt desperately sick.

"You're mine, tonight. They all wanted you. They want to make you speak." He ran a fingernail along her cheek, pressing down with the ragged edge of it in a line of sharp pain. "I won. I won, because they only wanted you to speak. I wanted more. I fought them for you."

Her thoughts crystallised. This was the man who had beaten her. The one who had insulted her ma. The one she had slapped. His damp hands were familiar on her skin, and she shuddered, still too trapped in her own mind to move, as they fumbled under her tunic.

A thousand voices in her head all shimmered into one, and she took a step away from him. His hands caught in the cloth and he laughed, the sound irritated. She heard it echoing. She saw the wolf prowling through the copper light, and smiled at it. It was trapped behind a wall of dark fire, but that didn't mean it was gone. She closed her eyes and saw its gleaming pelt, the power in its shoulders and the ripple of muscle in its paws.

_My beauty, _she called to it, reaching out arms of copper fire, _Oh, I need you! Let's play._

The man gripped her chin in sweaty fingers. His breath was ragged; he was thinking she had moved out of fear. Daine knew she would never be afraid again. His words called back so many nights, nights where her mind had wandered away. She thought she had forgotten the pain, the humiliation, but his words brought it all back, and she felt the wolf surge closer on a wave of pure hatred.

"I won," The official hissed, "because I want to make you scream."

Daine raised the hoof pick in a dreamy trance, pressing the sharp edge against his lily-white throat. She heard the watery gulp of gasped-in air. "You first," she whispered back into his stunned eyes, and smiled.

And pressed down.

The silver chain slithered from her wrist like a rivulet of icy water, glittering in the soft candlelight, dripping down onto the floor alongside the viscous dark-red blood that poured, so merrily, so easily, from the official's white skin. There were no colours in the middle: just dark red next to bone-white, and the silvery-grey of the hoof pick scything between them.

The voices in her mind were suddenly silent. The wolf howled.

Daine laughed out loud. The sound was harsh, a crow of pure delight that drowned out his choking noises, his hideous human pleading, the rattle of drowning breath through the gaping wound. It drowned out the crash of his body to the soft red carpet, and the scrabbling sound his fingers made against the bedpost as he tried to drag himself away.

Well, the wolf was having none of that! It prowled closer, still laughing at its escaping prey, and waited for the struggles to stop. Human eyes, green and pathetic, stared blankly at nothing. And the wolf laughed again. It lay beside the fallen creature and rested, its anger satiated...

... a few moments later, snapping out of her furious trance, Daine blinked at the bloodstained room and gripped her aching head in frozen hands. Shaking, she saw that her fingers were encrusted with dried blood, and picked up the broken chain from where it had fallen.

_What have I done? _She thought wildly, looking around. _This is... this wasn't supposed to happen! _

She saw the ashes of her carefully made plan lying around her. She could never escape now. Killing an official was a death sentence. She'd only meant to take the chain off, not bring the madness back! Her head ached horribly, and she retched at the coppery scent in the air.

_I invited that wolf back, _she remembered in horror. _Why... why did I do it? After Numair died trying to stop it from reaching me... _

She was sick then, heaving up her pitiful food ration in retching sobs. She'd killed an official. She knew that she would have to finish what she'd started. There was no turning back, now. For a few scant minutes of revenge she would have to keep fighting until she fell.

_I'm going to die tonight. _

She sat up straight and pocketed the chain, then her hoof pick. She squared her shoulders and glanced down one last time at the husk that had once been a man. She heard Numair's words in her mind, and smiled in reckless abandon.

_He said,_ '_These people are vile. I have to stop them'. He said that, and he's dead now, but I'm still here. And I'm going to die tonight. _

_So, I'd better make it worthwhile. _

_For him. _

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	13. Part 2: Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, and hi to all my new watchers! This one is for the watchers this week who have been going through my other stories- I hope you're enjoying them, and that you enjoy this next chapter as much!

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Chapter 3

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There was a crash, and screaming, and then the sound of running footsteps.

"He's dead, he's dead!" A woman's voice screamed, out of breath as she ran. "Oh, someone help!"

Numair grinned. "I knew she wasn't dead." He told the ceiling matter-of-factly.

The ceiling didn't answer, as it hadn't for all the long days the mage had spent locked in this cell, idly scratching at his healing scar and waiting for them to come and give their daily threats. He'd laughed them off, and when they were gone he probed at the strange copper barrier in his mind as if it were a missing tooth. Each day it faded slightly more, which fascinated him as much as it worried him. He told the ceiling about it, and the dusty grey timbers remained obstinately silent. Not even the glint of a listening spell marred their dusty ugliness. Who would the hawk mage speak to? He was supposed to go mad in here, he reasoned.

"Well, I'm not going mad." He told the ceiling after the fourth day. "I'm bored, but this beats sleeping in the gutter and fighting the rats for my food. I think I deserve to be pampered like this. Breakfast in bed, and such. Gives me time to think."

The ceiling remained obstinately silent, and the man folded his arms. "I can guess your thoughts. But, you see, my mind belongs to me again. For the first time in... well, years, as dramatic as that sounds...! I'm myself again! So I'm enjoying spending some quality time with, well, with me. I'm quite interesting."

The ceiling seemed unmoved by the sentiment, and Numair wondered if perhaps he should be more modest. He was lying, anyway. Lying to a piece of architectural design. How ridiculous. It lacked the capacity to tell if he was being honest. And it probably wouldn't care, either way.

It wouldn't care that the last thing going through Numair's mind right now was boredom, or some journey of self-rediscovery. No matter how much the man squeezed his eyes shut or remembered old times, Daine always managed to return to his thoughts. A memory of talking to George or Lindhall would turn into a hope to introduce them to the girl, and a daydream about what they might say. A philosophical train of thought about a certain book would shift into a plan to escape, or a fantasy conversation he might have with the officials to make them see the girl as a human being. He wondered how he'd been healed so quickly, and his only answer was the memory of light, warm fingers brushing against his skin. And always, but especially when he was feeling well-fed, or healthy, or sleepy, he would feel the agony of guilt and worry as he wondered where she was, and what they were doing to her.

He'd forced himself not to tell that to anyone, not even to the ceiling. If they had any idea how much he cared about her, they could use that against him. Against both of them. If he had broken down when they lied to him about her dying then they would have seen it as a weak point. As it was, they were still trying to break him.

They were finding it very, very difficult.

He didn't speak, think, or behave like a slave. He didn't cry, or beg, or rant at his captors. He simply stayed in his tiny cell, walking around it in endless circles to build up his strength and sleeping peacefully every night. When they threatened him he answered mildly, intelligently, making them leave scratching their heads in confusion more often than not. The gold chain around his wrist might have been an ornament he'd chosen to wear, for all the nonchalant interest that he regarded it with. And they couldn't tell that he cared about the girl, not at all.

Inside, he was desperate. Days trickled past as he built up his strength and examined the gift which remained to him, and listened at the door of his cell. Life in the prison was, he discovered, very monotonous. Nothing seemed to break through the frozen facade of a normal, quiet keep guarding an insignificant mountain pass.

Until tonight, that was. The mage sat up quickly and listened, hearing the maid's screams as she fled towards the depths of the castle. Then there was silence. Was it distant hysterical voices he heard, or the calls of bats? Then there was the thunder of hobnailed footsteps, and loud shouted orders in deep voices which echoed into senselessness in the stone corridors.

The cell door was flung open with a crash, and Numair had to raise his hands to shield his eyes from the torchlight.

"Is it morning?" He asked the assembled guards with a sarcastically bright smile. A shorter man pushed through the humourless men and scowled.

"You." He hissed, stepping closer with the cowardly courage of the trapper who knows the wolf has no teeth. "You know something about this."

"Me? This?" Numair smiled in baffled politeness and made a point of looking around the room he was locked in, at the chain on his wrist, at the longer chain which shackled his leg to a loop in the centre of the cell. "Yes... I overheard some gossip on my nightly stroll through your delightful grounds. Nice peacocks, by the way..."

"Bring him." The healer said curtly to the nearest guard. The man saluted, and then flicked his eyes up at the other guards who stayed after the healer had gone.

"Well, check the perimeter, you idle bastards." His voice was brisk, petulant. "I don't want her charging in when I've got my hands full with this one, now, do I?"

"You'll be alright on your own, Ronan?"

"I just said so, didn't I?" The soldier growled. The other men nodded, saluted hastily and peeled away. Numair watched the one remaining man- Ronan- turn to the heavy chain on the floor and press a glowing finger to the magical lock. It fell away with a clang. The captive looked up at the door and wondered how far he would get if he managed to strangle this guard with the chain.

"Tempting, isn't it? But if you do that then you won't be able to help Daine." Ronan said casually, a loop of the chain wrapped around his wrist. Numair blinked, laughed in surprise, and then held out empty hands.

"How do _you _know her name?" He demanded. Ronan smiled.

"Your little one?" He watched the mage's reaction with a strange kind of sadness, and then nodded. "Ah, yes." He said, not really answering the question, "Well, give me your hand. No, you idiot! The one with the chain on it. _Gods." _

Numair held out the chain mutely, completely bewildered, still considering the man through narrowed eyes. This was the same man who had moved Daine closer to the fire, when she'd been so badly beaten. This was the one who had given her the blanket. Small acts of kindness, sure, but he was quickly learning that in a place like this they were almost unthinkable luxuries.

Before he took the chain, the other man paused and looked almost uncertain."You have to escape. Not fight. Do you understand? You can't fight. It's pointless, and you'll both die. She won't understand that. But you can make her run. Drag her, if you have to, but get her out of here."

Numair blinked, and nodded back just as uncertainly. The guard bit his lip as he considered the chain, and then pressed a finger to one link and whispered a word. Butter yellow fire glimmered for a second, and then faded.

"Break it when you need to, at that point." Ronan whispered quickly. "Just – pull it. Snap it. It's weak enough now. Don't try to magic it off, whatever you do! And... it was weakened on its own, understand? A faulty chain."

"Thank you." Numair whispered back, and the other man dropped his hand as if it burned him.

"Save your thanks. You're a useful tool to me, nothing more. Just a... a device. If I could protect her myself then I'd leave you here to rot. And gladly."

"Understood." Numair caught the man's eyes for a moment, and saw the depths of an emotion that was so fine a mixture of hatred, hope, fear and compassion that it made his own heart jump into his throat. "I am sorry."

Ronan spat on the floor and yanked at the chain, conversation over. It cut sharply into Numair's ankle, and he stumbled to his feet. One hand wrapped around the chain on his opposite wrist, he tried to quiet his racing heart.

_Pick your time well, _he thought, and his knuckles turned white around the weak link. He caught sight of the back of the healer's head in the line of guards they had caught up with, and felt the hot sickness of rage rise like bile in his throat. He had to stop himself from tearing the chain of right there and blasting the man with fire, now he knew that was an option.

"She's vanished." One of the guards was telling the healer in a voice he didn't bother to lower as they walked. "They think they've spotted her near the north wing, but..."

"But she's clever." The healer's voice was like oil. "More clever than we gave her credit for. One casualty is understandable, more would just be careless. She fooled us with the hawk mage, and she fooled us with Official Genat. We won't be tricked a third time."

"She'll be looking for him." The guard indicated Numair with a shrug of one shoulder, but Ronan was already shaking his head.

"She thinks he's dead. Why on earth would she look for him? What would she look for? His body? His rotten, pig-chewed bones?" He seemed to relish the last phrase, and the mage couldn't help shuddering. The guard smirked back at him, but his eyes were humourless and held a message. "She thinks he's dead, and she's avenging him. I'd look to the officials. And Dakinn." He said it flatly, so emotionless that the healer's horrified reaction seemed almost comical. Ronan shrugged. "She'll be after you, sir."

"Pure conjecture." The healer blustered, stumbling over the word. But his steps quickened.

"Where might we be going, on this fine winter's evening?" Numair asked loudly, wondering if there was any chance she might overhear and know he was alive. Half of the guards cut their eyes back at him, the other half ignored him.

"She knows where all the officials' rooms are, after all." Dakinn mused out loud, still walking very fast. "She doesn't know where the safe room is. So even if she is going after them, then..."

His voice was lost in the echoes of a stone tunnel, and Numair had to duck his head as they all squeezed through a tiny passage cut into stone. It broadened out into a vast room, more like a cave than a room, and they were barely inside before an iron door clanged shut behind them. There was a rustle of anxious voices in the darkness, and then a lantern was lit, and collectively the shadowed men breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're hiding from a little girl?" Numair asked, and laughed mockingly. Ronan yanked at the chain, and he fell over with a yelp, still giggling. "Ah, you're truly the terror of Galla, my lords!"

"There are others who fight for us. We have power, and gold, and intellect." One of the men said in a cold voice. "We can buy people to die for us."

Amidst the murmur of agreement Numair's answer cut through poisonously. "Would they still agree to do it, though, if they knew what you all did to her? Or did you keep those details secret?"

The guards stood silently, looking at their feet as their eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. Looking around, Numair could see that many of them had only learned the truth very recently, or, if they had known it, had never really thought about it enough to question it.

"We will not take lessons in morals from a man who let children burn in their beds, and who slaughtered priests at their morning prayers." The voice had the air of finality, and Numair caught his breath at the accusation. He couldn't remember doing either of those things, but that didn't mean he hadn't done them. He lay on the floor, stared at the ceiling, and felt the cold stone at his back.

_Run away, don't fight. _He remembered Ronan's words, and regretted agreeing to them. It would be so easy to burn this room, to shield himself and his captor and ring the walls in black, roaring flames. The stone would soon cool down again, and the iron door was bolted on the inside. But the men outside of this room were the dangerous ones, and that was where Daine was. He needed to protect her, not avenge her. And so he lay quietly, thinking quickly and wrapping long fingers around the chain. No-one was paying him any attention, not yet. If things got worse, he guessed, they would try to use him for leverage. But aside from a few distant yells there was no real sign that anything was going on at all.

Run away? Nothing easier. He snapped the chain between two long fingers, as easily as if it were made of wax. The chain on his ankle took no more than a spark of the gift to melt away, and casting a tiny amount of darkness in a blackened room was child's play. He was free from his chains, and slipped through the crowd as a silent shadow. They were in the centre of the room, and the entrance he had come in through was a few feet away – one of many, and not guarded like some of the others. He whispered up to it on silent feet. A small part of him danced gleefully at the ease with which he used his magic. It was so simple: like old times, before the hawk haunted him.

Now. The door. It wasn't warded, so he could slip through it, but it would drain a lot of his gift. It was held shut by a single wooden bar. Presumably they would ward it if they saw a threat. He thought of an idea, and grinned. Quickly, silently, he opened the door and let it swing open. A guard saw him and shouted, striding forward, but by then he had raced through and pulled the heavy door shut behind him. Of course, he could not lock it from this side. He pressed a thin hand against the metal and whispered a few words, sealing the iron to the rock and warding the door for good measure. Hoarse shouts of outrage followed him, and he laughed out loud.

They might come through another door. Before they could catch him, though, he disappeared back into the prison.


	14. Part 2: Chapter 4

This chapter is for LittleHouseOnTheDairy, simply because both your review and your username both made me smile this week. To the rest of my readers: I love to hear from you, please keep those reviews coming! Enjoy!

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Chapter 4

The air was heavy with the copper scent of blood, and a strange silence. The echoes of screams still clung to his ears, but the screamers were strangely silent. Despite himself, Numair was afraid. He didn't know what to expect. For all Ronan's conviction that the mage was the person who could convince Daine to stop fighting and leave, Numair had none of the same certainty. He didn't even know what the girl had done to be locked up in the first place, and now she was terrorising an entire castle full of soldiers on her own. He trod lightly, and avoided leaving footprints in the dark pools that spilled out of some of the doorways.

Without the chain around his wrist, his magic seemed to boil in his veins. If he hadn't spent the last eight years forcing himself to control wild surges of magic it would be spilling like lightning from his fingertips. As it was, he was hyper-aware of every magical thing in the world around him. The prison was full of magicked locks, spelled chains and listening spells, but amidst these small magics lurked a larger threat. Ahead, he could feel the glow of bronze magic, but even as his heart raced in relief he felt the darker shining of unfamiliar magic, a viscous green gift that was moving slowly towards her. Other auras were searching through other parts of the castle, but the green gift... that moved with determination. The mage knew where Daine was, and was closing in.

He hurried his steps. The number of dead bodies stunned him, as he ran along the corridors, but some cynical part of his mind chimed in. These couldn't have all been killed by Daine. Some of the doors were blasted open, as if by magic. Some of the corpses lay half-out of their rooms, twisted in tortured poses that spoke of excruciating magical death. Daine couldn't do that. She might have killed the first man, but these people were killed in the panic. Perhaps some of the guards lashed out, but he was starting to think...

A high-pitched laugh rang in the air a few corridors to his right, and he kept running without taking the turn. They had let the other prisoners loose to catch Daine. This was why the other officials were hiding in their safe room. They weren't scared of Daine, they were scared of what the other convicts might do. They probably had some kind of spell attached to their chains which meant that the healer could snap his fingers, and they would all drop down in a deep sleep so they could be taken back to their cells. The officials would be fine. But anyone outside of the safe room- the servants, the stragglers, any other slaves- well, they were easy targets, and the convicts laughed at their suffering.

This was why they'd been told to run, not fight.

Numair shuddered and ran on. The grating laugh kept pace with him in the parallel corridor, but was met by a scream. He hesitated for a moment, and then heard the unmistakable sound of a death rattle. Whoever the other mage had caught, it was too late to help them now. He ran on.

The corridor opened out into an old solar, which was still full of looms even without the courtly ladies to weave on them. Cheap fabric was being crafted in the place of the ornate fabrics those ladies would have made, but it hung in abandoned tatters. The wide windows let in the frozen winter air, and the slim silhouette of a girl stood at one, arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the moonlit clouds. As his eyes adjusted to the light he could see that she was covered in blood, and that her clothes were torn. She stared blankly at the sky, listening to the crashing and screaming in the prison around her, and her fingers clenched and unclenched around a strange, curved blade she held in one hand.

"Daine," he breathed softly, taking a few steps forward. She didn't hear him. Before he could reach her the harsh laughing mage crashed into the room. It was a woman, her hair a wild tangle of flying dreadlocks as she fell to her feet and sprang upright from all fours, agile as a tumbler as she danced from loom to loom.

"Theeeeeere you are!" The mage trilled, only seeing Daine in the moonlit room. She grinned, showing a mouthful of over-bright teeth, and crouched down easily on the floor. The chain she had around her wrist clattered on the tiled floor, and a second one on her opposite ankle answered its chime.

The girl turned around and looked at the woman, her eyes so blank they were nearly empty. "Anja." She said flatly, making the words come to her lips with slow deliberation. "Are they that scared of me?"

"Terrified, my lovely luscious lass! You can taste it!" The mage licked her lips and stood up straight, her locks swinging well past her waist like a cloak. "Which one did you kill?"

"Does it matter?" Daine looked away, pulling her torn tunic across herself as if she could hide the bruises on her throat and chin along with her nakedness. "I wanted to do more. I couldn't. As soon as they found out..." she shrugged and let go of the cloth, not caring any more. "Well, perhaps it was worth it."

"You must learn to sneak, little pet! Sneak! You should have kept your voice silent and let your steps follow it!" The voice came from near the window, and Daine jumped when the woman crawled out of a shadow. She hadn't seen her move. She backed away towards the centre of the room.

"That's your trick. Not mine." She said quietly. "Will you make it quick?"

"Quuiiiick?" The woman drew out the word. Standing up straight, she was almost a foot taller than the girl, and she loomed over her with hunger written in her eyes. "No, my darling dearest dainty duck! Of course not! Little Anja will have more reward with every little squeak the mouseling makes."

"And then they'll throw you back in your hole, to rot." Daine retorted, her voice suddenly heated as she stopped trying to reason with the convict. "Oh, they might give you an extra blanket. Then you can pretend you're back at your laundry, strangling maids with bed sheets. But you'll still be trapped. In a hole. Rotting." She smiled and raised her hands, seeing how the moonlight danced over her bare wrist, showing the woman that her chain was gone. The mage drew back, hissing through her teeth, and Daine smiled.

"I'd rather die free than buy a day more of their foul life with their twisted coin." She said simply. Then she raised her hand to her neck, and Numair saw the silver glint of the curved knife in her fist. He took a step out of the shadows, ready to stop her, and in that moment Daine looked up.

She gasped, blood draining from her face, and her eyes widened. For a horrible moment he thought she'd cut her throat already, but it was shock which made her stumble backwards and fall to the floor. Anja laughed at her clumsiness, then thought to look around, her own face twisting in glee.

"Ahhhhhhh, the little birdy boy manic mage!" She crowed. "I hoped I might meet you, flappy!"

"Get away from her." He said, letting his gift finally crackle from his fingertips.

Daine made a sobbing sound, hands pressed to her face as she stared at him in shock, and her knife clattered to the tiles next to her. She had tried to muffle the sound, but even with her hands pressed over her mouth it was enough to distract him for a split second. The witch crowed her grating laugh and sprang, not even bothering to summon her own magic as she leapt at her new prey. Numair turned and put up a shield, cursing himself as he was knocked back under the blow. Getting distracted would get them _both _killed! He backed away, letting the mocking woman think he was nervous of another attack, while he was really drawing her away from Daine.

"Did you really strangle people?" He asked, breathlessly trying to stall her as he constructed another, stronger, shield. The woman shrugged, not interested in speaking.

"I started by strannnnnngling. Their faces went purple." She grinned, and he saw why her teeth were too bright. They were made of silver, gleaming in the moonlight. "Then I started..."

She didn't finish her sentence, but threw a bolt of greenish magic at him with such sudden speed he had to throw himself to one side to dodge it. It struck a loom, which slowly melted into a strange, viscous liquid.

"Ahhhh, yes. That spell." The woman said dreamily. "Melted right from their booooones. Such pretty colours. I miss using it."

She turned around, looking for Daine, and Numair frantically wondered how he could stop her from casting that spell again. He thought rapidly, but after eight years the spells didn't leap to his mind as easily as they once had. He sprang up and mist streamed from his hands, freezing on her hands and face as soon as it touched her, sealing her mouth shut. She waited for a split second, and then threw herself forward face-first onto the tiles. The ice shattered. Blood streamed from her nose when she stood up, and she wiped it away with the back of one hand.

"Pathetic." She spat blood on the floor, and whipped her head around. Her locks span around her face, and for a split second there was nothing, and then a shockwave of spiralling wind threw Numair back across the room. He lay there, too stunned to move. Anja prowled towards him, hands raised, but just as the sickening green light was pooling around her hands she fell backwards with a strangled gasp.

Daine was clinging to Anja's back, holding on grimly as she ripped the woman's locks, yanking her head back and holding the knife to her throat. Anja laughed hollowly.

"Are your feet even touching the ground, little mischief of a monkey?"

Daine blinked, and in the same movement as before the witch spun her head, not caring about the thin line scored across her throat as she hurled the girl across the room. She smashed into one of the looms, skidding across the tiles in a tangle of sharp broken wood rotten threads. Anja licked her lips and advanced on her crumpled body, shoulders hunched.

"You never fought for yourself, did you? Little liar of a fake felon that you are. We always despised you. Taking the blame for someone else's battles like a martyr, and wandering around with your head bowed like you deserved it. We... _hate_... you." She smiled and looped an arm around Daine's shoulders, taking the knife with something close to tenderness. For a moment she could have been the girl's mother, cradling her in her arms as she struggled back to consciousness. "I was so happy for you, little darling pet, when I heard you'd ripped that bastard's throat out. I knew it was just a matter of time. But now... you disappoint me, my pet." She span the knife in her fingers, eyes sorrowful. "You were fighting for him, weren't you? All along, just another cause for saint Daine to fight for."

"Some things are... worth fighting for." Daine whispered, struggling to open her eyes. Her fingers scrabbled at the floor, finding a broken chunk of loom and holding onto it grimly. The convict laughed and dropped her, not caring that she landed heavily on the tiles. She studied the curved knife for a split second, and then raised it with a grin.

"I'll cut your tongue out fiiiiirst, little lying leech. I know you won't miss it." She started to lean forward, and then stopped, a line appearing between her eyes. "What...?"

Guided by black fire, almost invisible in the darkness, every loom had thrown out hundreds of old tendrils of coarse linen threads. They had gently wrapped themselves around the witch, tangling in her grimy hair and looping around her arms and legs, but it was only when she made the move towards Daine that they were suddenly pulled tight.

The woman screamed out a curse as more and more strands looped around her and she was trapped. If she had moved backwards, away from her prey, then she might have been able to cut the strings with the knife. But she was so irate, so fixed on the girl in front of her, that she never thought to do that. She screamed and green fire poured from one hand, burning through the cords even as thicker strands began to wrap around her throat and squeeze, merciless. Even as she choked out her last breaths she raised her hand, wanting to strike, to kill.

Daine blocked the blow with the piece of broken wood, and then stabbed blindly upwards, desperate to stop the attack from coming again. Warm liquid flowed over her hands and she gasped, pushing herself backwards as the woman bled out onto the floor. The white strands which bound her slowly blossomed red, like a flower, from the gaping wound on her chest. She stared at her, panting, the wood still raised, and nearly screamed when a hand fell onto her shoulder.

"It's okay. You're okay. She's dead. It's over." The man said in a rush, and she blinked a few times to clear her eyes. Her panting turned into great heaving sobs, and she clung to him. He picked her up easily, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, but she still couldn't stop crying.

"Ssh, ssh, magelet. You're safe." He murmured, and she shook her head through a blur of overpowering emotions.

"You're alive!" She gasped, and dissolved into a new flood of tears. He held her even closer for a moment, feeling tears sting his own eyes. He wanted to stay there, holding her safely, until her tears stopped and she smiled again. But even as he held her he could feel one of the other mages drawing closer, and he knew that they had to escape quickly. Even the small amount of magic it had taken to bewitch the looms had nearly broken through the copper shield in his mind, and he could tell she was in no state to even think about casting another one.

"Daine," He said quickly, "We have to get out of here. I can't fight another one of them. Not now. We have to get away. Do you understand?"

She nodded, looking up into his eyes with such complete trust that he felt almost uneasy. "You're alive," she whispered again, as if she hadn't heard a word, and raised a hand to touch his face. A slow smile glimmered through her tears, and she abruptly kissed him with such violent tenderness that he was taken aback. Her lips tasted of salt and copper, and his gift burned at the threat of the other mage, but all that fled from his mind as he kissed her back. Even when she pulled away and smiled, even when he put her down, she still couldn't stop staring at him in absolute wonder.

"The windows here are big enough to fit through. Can you climb?" He asked her, his own mind spinning giddily. She nodded, not looking away, and he smiled at her. It was easy enough to cast a spell on the remaining looms, and make a strong knotted rope from them which embedded itself in the wall. They climbed down onto a shelf of rock and found a goat-path which led them further along the mountain, and just like that, they were free. The rocky outcrops of the pass hid them from the keep within a few miles, and they kept walking off the trail until they found a brook. The sun rose and they kept walking through the brook, knowing they wouldn't leave any footprints, and when it began to set they found a new trail and started to follow it. It led them to the cusp of a small mountain, and there they stopped to catch their breath.

From the top of the hill they could see the keep, grey and looming at one end of the pass. Steep spikes of impenetrable mountains rose up on either side of it, as if the battlements and the land had made a pact to copy one another. And then, closing the walls at the opposite end of the valley, a second keep sat, identical to the first, smugly blocking off the trade route towards Tortall. The valley was vast- at least fifty miles long, but completely locked in by the fortress of stone and iron. The only way to get in or out was through the keeps, by passing through a thick portcullis and being waved through by a soldier.

"We're still trapped." Numair breathed, and then laughed harshly, his breath making a cloud in the cold air. "This whole valley is a cage."

"There're towns," Daine pointed out, seeing the distant glimmers of candlelit buildings. "If we could find someone to help us- to blend in, to look normal, then..."

"Perhaps." He acceded, sighing. He suddenly felt very tired, as the adrenalin of their escape wore off. Daine's eyes were over-bright as she stared down at the valley, hands twisting as if she could shape some bridge across the mountains from the air. Numair knew that even a bird would have trouble flying through those mountains, where glaciers danced with soft snow and even a soft caw would start the heavy ice tumbling down.

"We should find somewhere to sleep before the frost settles." He said, and took hold of her hand. "Come on, magelet, we can make plans tomorrow."

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	15. Part 2: Chapter 5

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Chapter 5

Daine woke up and blinked, shivering in the icy air. They had found a small incline under a rocky shelf. The cliff-face was blanketed by ferns, more sheltered than the exposed hills and hidden away from any passing mountain folk. Raindrops pattered on the leaves, and the wan dawn light streamed through the leaves in a disorientating green hue. It was like another world, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. Numair still slept deeply beside her, one arm pillowing his head, the other still encircling her shoulders. She cuddled up to his sleeping warmth. It seemed like some kind of dream, to lie sleepily beside him under the old fur they'd risked stealing from a remote inn. She felt warm and free... if not entirely safe. It was the kind of dream where, at any moment, someone might burst into the room and wake you up. The troubling thought woke her again from a half-doze, and she nestled closer to the man.

Dreamily, she looked at him, as if she was seeing him for the first time. _Alive. _A long, thin face framed by dark hair. Even without his arresting black eyes it was still an attractive face, she decided. He frowned slightly in his sleep, but it was a gentle expression. She kissed his cheek softly, knowing he wouldn't awaken from such a light touch, and rested her hand on his chest. He breathed evenly, and she leaned her head against his shoulder peacefully for a few minutes. She could hear his heartbeat, and something in her stomach warmed at the sound. _Alive. _

She already knew his body, but she'd known it as a healer trying to mend a broken shell. Now, warm and whole and alive, every inch of his skin fascinated her. Part of her mind didn't believe he was really here, and that he was really strong and healed. It was impossible. She slid her hand inside his shirt without thinking about it, sensing the lines of his chest and the raised healed scar with her fingertips, wishing it wasn't too cold to draw the fur away and see the shape the scar made across his stomach. He breathed in more deeply than before, and she looked up into open, sleep-addled black eyes.

"Daine?" He asked in a confused voice, still trapped in the world of dreams.

"Ssh." She said, running her hand along his chest and across his shoulder blades. Yes, he was still too thin, but the skeletal, deathly look had faded. He shivered, and she wondered if he was cold, when now she felt so deliciously warm. He took a breath again, and she realised she didn't want him to break the silent, tender dream that danced around her. She kissed him before he could speak, pressing closer and closer to him as he sleepily wrapped an arm around her back and held her tightly.

"What are you doing?" he whispered in her ear when they broke apart. His voice was sounding more awake now, and although there was an undercurrent of uneasy laughter in his tone she knew he was quite serious in asking. She swept her fingers back across his skin and tangled her other hand in his hair, prompting some unconscious instinct as he reached up to kiss her again. Soft fire raced through her body, tingling in her fingertips and pooling in her stomach. He laughed raggedly, breaking away and cupping her chin in his free hand, eyes flicking sideways.

"This is..." he stopped and shut his eyes tight for a second, frustrated at his lack of words as she stroked soft fingertips across his stomach. "Daine, little one, sweetheart, please. Please stop doing that. I can't think when you're doing that."

"Why do you want to think?" She asked. He shook his head, eyes still shut, and she held her hand still over his racing heartbeat.

"Not that I'm saying this isn't a nice way to wake up, but... but Daine, you mustn't." He said earnestly, eyes clear from sleep now. Whatever his thoughts were, they came out in a rushed babble. "It'll wear off, you see. It's not _real. _What we feel for each other is just... just an illusion. It's because we need each other. Because we have to fight, not because we're... we're..."

He lost his train of thought and his thumb lightly brushed against her cheek, then traced the shape of her face with the same kind of delicate curiosity she'd felt flickering in his eyes. Daine closed her eyes and let herself feel the warmth of his hand, the callous of his fingers, the velvet-black warmth that caressed her skin wherever he touched her.

"Doesn't it feel real to you?" She asked in a whisper, opening her eyes. For a moment their eyes met, and she caught her breath at the expression in his dark gaze. He didn't answer, and so she kissed him again, showing him gentleness and warmth and the slow-burning fire that she was sure he felt, too. He made an odd sound, his hand tightening around her face as he drew her closer and kissed her back. He raised his other hand to tangle it in her hair, but then stopped himself. He made a strangled sound and pulled away, his eyes fierce.

"No," he said firmly, and his voice held an iron-coldness she'd not heard before. "No, Daine, it _doesn't_. I won't lie to you. And it's not right."

She bit her lip, a deep flush rising in her cheeks. "But I thought you wanted..." She realised straight away that she'd said the wrong thing. He flushed and looked away. His hands fell away from her face as if her skin had burned him, but he didn't answer her. She shrugged off the fur and pulled away from him. Of _course_ it was what he wanted. That was why he was turning her down! Because in his strange, noble head it would make him no different from all the other men. Was that what he thought? She knew she was making up thoughts for him, but they ran rapidly, painfully through her mind as if they were dragged by horses.

The wild creature he'd rescued had only survived because men had wanted her. It was why they hadn't worked her to death in the fields like the other slaves, and why they had sometimes cared for her after they beat her so she wouldn't die. She had survived because they wanted her. And now she had survived because he had protected her, and he had to tell himself it was for other reasons. Because, morally, he believed that they were wrong. If he acted the same way that they had, then how could he possibly make a stand against them? It wouldn't matter to him that she gave herself to him out of love, and that she'd had no choice with them. He might not even believe that. Who knew what went through his mind?

"It's different." She whispered, but even as the words came out she knew he wasn't listening. She didn't have the words to make him understand. She couldn't break through the wall he'd built in his head, which wouldn't let him touch her because all he would feel under his hands was skin that other men had used before him. She was damaged, and used, and broken, and he couldn't fix her. Maybe he didn't even want to try.

"This stops." He said, not looking at her as she turned away. "I shouldn't even have started it, and I'm sorry. But it has to end."

"_I_ started it." She told him, her voice scathing. He didn't look up, and she cursed out loud and stood up to walk away. If she'd have looked back she might have seen the raw pain in his eyes as he couldn't help but look around, but she didn't. She bit her lip and clenched her fists and hated both him and herself in equal measure.

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On the fifth night a thick frost fell, making the ferns into delicate sculptures which were deadly still in the bitter wind. They risked a fire, but didn't dare make it large enough to be seen from any real distance, and even huddled right next to it they could barely feel its warmth. Daine couldn't stop her teeth from rattling, and her fingers were so stiff with cold that she didn't even notice the savage splinter she'd picked up from one of the frozen sticks they were burning. Numair cursed and caught her wrist, seeing the brightness of blood, but even when he pulled the sharp piece of wood from her palm Daine couldn't feel any pain.

She bit her lip and sucked the blood away, her stomach churning in revulsion at the coppery taste of the only thing she'd consumed in days. They hadn't dared risked stealing food from anywhere they passed. An old fur might be mislaid, but food was kept close by in the lean winter months. The game were all hibernating, and although they set some traps there were no animals to catch. They chewed on bark to stop their stomachs from cramping, and drank brackish water from the glacial streams, and both grew thinner.

"We can't go on like this." Numair said gently, blowing on her fingers to warm them up while they waited for the fire to catch. "Not like this. We didn't go through all of that just to end up starving to death in a freezing ditch."

"I'm happy." She said, shivering. He smiled sardonically and held her hands close to the warmth of his chest.

"You can still die when you're happy, Daine. It's no more pleasant than dying when you're sad." He sighed and looked up at the greenish morning sky, then the looming keeps. "If only I had a way to contact... but it's useless."

Daine didn't answer, but tucked her head under his chin and cuddled closer. "I could ask the birds." She said eventually, absently tangling her fingers together with his. He stiffened, and for a moment she thought he was angry with her for touching him, but he let his breath out in a rush and his voice was excited:

"Would that work? Like carrier pigeons?"

"Why not?" She paused to consider her own words, and a slow smile spread across her face. The local birds were all the ragged black ravens that cawed in the leafless trees. They were very different from the docile, fat pigeons she'd seen in messenger towers. "Might scare your friend a little."

"She'd never admit it scared her, even if it did." Numair's voice was suddenly purposeful, and he pulled away, tearing at the edge of his tunic. Daine watched him with wide eyes until he looked up and grinned. "Well, what else are we going to write on? Are you calling them?"

"Now?" Daine swallowed and looked around, hearing the mocking calls of the birds and the pressing thud of her own heartbeat in her ears. "Someone might overhear."

He looked up, eyebrows raised, one hand poised halfway to grabbing a piece of charcoal from the fire. "Can't you call them silently?"

"I wish you'd stop pointing out all the things I can't do." She said irritably. "I'd never point out that you can't even light a fire without burning your fingers."

He ignored that and put his scrap of fabric carefully in his pocket. "Try it." He said, gesturing for her to sit next to him. She copied his tailor seat, wondering how meditating would help her talk to someone outside of her own mind. Obediently, she breathed evenly, and when he asked her to call the birds with her mind she tried it. The words stayed trapped inside her own self, echoing in her core and startling the wolf from its dozing.

_Then open a window. _Numair suggested, leaning nonchalantly against the copper walls with his hands tucked into his belt.

_You can't be serious. _She had to stop and regain her focus rather than stare at him incredulously. His shade shrugged.

_Well, it's an analogy. I mean that if you think you're trapped then you will be. Magic's all about your control over it, so if you think it's going to stay here, it will. So imagine opening a window, or a door, and shout out of it. _

_I think you're going mad. _Daine opened one eye and sighed, then meditated again. Fine. So her core was a room... and she had to imagine a window. It was something a child would suggest, not a university trained mage! Still, she fashioned a picture in her mind, and gave it curtains and elaborate scrollwork just because she was irritated, and then thrust the image into her core with impetuous haste.

Her mouth fell open. It appeared, ridiculously flamboyant in the organic world of her mind. Numair laughed and tugged at one of the curtains.

_Very pretty. _He said, examining the blue fabric. _Did you make these up?_

_They were my ma's. _Daine suddenly felt sheepish, as if showing him this part of her memory was somehow betraying her ma's memory. Still, she had a window now, and she could see through it towards the birds. She took a deep breath, and called to them. This time, the copper magic streamed through the window and sped towards the creatures, who called back mocking greetings.

She gasped and opened her eyes as scores of sharp claws dug into her shoulders and arms. The whole flock had swooped down on her, summoned by that wild stream of copper fire, and were happily roosting on her, and on the ground around her. Numair had one perched on his head, which made her smile.

"Hello," she said quietly to them. They replied in her mind and in her ears, cawing loudly.

"You don't have to speak out loud at all, you know," Numair said, but he was smiling as he held a hand out to the raven on his head and took it down. The bird nattered at him, but let him put it down on the ground.

"Will you carry a message for us?" Daine asked the lead raven. He tilted his head to one side, and then she heard him speak inside her mind- far clearer than any animal voice had been since Cloud.

_-A message? Like the fat fluffy birds?- _

"That's right. Hunters have trapped us, and we're asking for help."

_-Are they the humans sneaking up the sun-rising deer path?- _The raven asked, ruffling his shoulders in irritation. _–They step like heavy cows, and scare away the worms.- _

Daine made a mental note about the incoming soldiers, and explained to the ravens what they needed. They looked interested, since in the winter they didn't care so much where they were as long as there was food. There were no nests to protect, after all. They cawed in laughter at the idea of scaring another human creature, and finally agreed. Daine repeated the directions Numair gave her to the birds, wondering about the places he seemed to know so well, that were just names to her. She wondered who on earth would trust a person living in a place called 'Pirate's Swoop'!

Numair wrote a short message on the piece of fabric, and held it out to her. She tied it carefully around the bird's foot. He swaggered around, wings cocked at a rakish angle for a moment as he showed off his dainty anklet to the other ravens. They cawed in mocking laughter, and then took wing.

"How long will it take them?" Numair asked, watching them go. Daine shrugged, her ears ringing in the sudden silence.

"I don't know where they're going. How far is it?" She asked. He thought for a moment, and repeated a distance back to her. She smiled and counted on her fingers.

"Well, if they don't get too distracted, then perhaps a day to fly there, and another day to fly back. But let's say three days, because they _will _get distracted!" She smiled, and then remembered herself, and shook her head to clear it. "There are soldiers coming up the deer path to the east. We need to head west."


	16. Part 2: Chapter 6

A/N: Thank you to all my reviewers! Special thanks to the anonymous Guest reviewer who wrote yesterday- I'm very flattered, and I hope you are happy with how this ends, even if it isn't what you're anticipating!

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Chapter 6

The note was short, with as many words as possible crammed onto the tiny scrap of paper, but long after they'd both memorised its contents they couldn't help reading it over and over again. It was an address. After it was a short note:

_Ask for Lady Hazelle. She'll be expecting you. Wait. Will join you ASAP – month at most. Glad you're okay! – A. _

"It's at the other end of the valley." Daine pointed out, recognising the name of one of the larger towns. "Past the checkpoint."

Numair nodded, folding the scrap of paper into his pocket with clumsy fingers. They'd scouted their end of the valley meticulously, looking for any pass through the mountains or any cave network that they might hide in safely. The single troupe of soldiers had missed them, but many more followed in their footsteps. Their sleep was broken three or four times a night as they had to move away, and they hadn't dared risk another fire. They huddled together for warmth, but each hungry night that passed made that shared warmth grew a little colder. The valley was inescapable, and if the ravens hadn't found them on the fourth day they might have lost all hope. Their hands shook from hunger and weariness, and the cold bit at their bare feet and blistered their skin, but they both laughed hysterically when the sky finally filled with wing beats and the ravens swooped down.

"We can get there over the goat trails." Daine whispered, almost to herself. It was how they'd stayed hidden, climbing along treacherous paths which crumbled under their feet. The soldiers in their armour didn't dare risk it. It would be a long and dangerous hike, but no more dangerous than staying here. Some of the soldier-mages had started blasting rocks from the overhanging cliffs and starting avalanches whenever they heard a twig snap. It was only a matter of time before they were found, too weak to fight, and they would be at those same soldiers' mercy.

They started walking straight away, climbing up the nearest trail and helping each other scale the steeper parts of the mountain side. When they were high enough above the ground that a casual glance wouldn't have spotted them, they caught their breath and started hunting for the nearest animal trail.

It was two days before the soldiers caught up with them, and by then they were so tired that they barely noticed the distant sounds of men shouting to each other. The trail they'd found climbed so high that they had to stop and catch their breath, and combined with their half-starved dizziness they had slowed down a lot more than they realised. Daine was trailing slightly behind, her feet dragging on the loose stones of the narrow path along yet another frozen cliff face, when she heard the voices.

She looked around so quickly she was dizzy, and had to wait for her eyes to clear before she could even see the soldiers. Most of them were on a lower trail, but a few had shed their armour and were climbing up the goat trail behind her. When they realised she'd seen them they froze, and then one of them sent a bolt of pure magic darting towards her. It missed, striking the cliff below her, and for a second she could turn and run. Then, weakened by the blast, the rock crumbled under her right foot. She shrieked as she began sliding down the side of the cliff. Scrabbling wildly at the rocks, she grabbed a trailing bramble and held on, gasping, watching as great chunks of the trail that she had just walked over tumbled down into the valley. Her flailing feet found only a small rock, which wobbled when she put some weight onto it, but held enough for her aching arms to have some rest.

"Help!" She cried, coughing back stinging dust from the whipping wind. "Help me!"

Behind her, the soldiers shouted to each other and pointed at her. The section of path they stood on was secure, but many meters away and much further down, and she couldn't hear what they were shouting. She shut her eyes and tried to climb up the bramble, wincing as the hoary barbs bit into her palms. The stone under her foot crumbled away and she shrieked, falling back a few feet as her arms took all of her weight again.

"Daine!" Numair looked down at her from the next section of the trail. She stared up at him wildly, seeing that even if she climbed up he was too far away to pull her to safety. He was doing something with his hands- something that called the black glitter of his gift, but as she breathed in to ask what she should do a massive bolt of lightning struck the cliff near her head. She screamed and clung on to the bramble with shaking arms, feeling it shudder as rocks fell away. The soldiers shouted again, and she heard the unmistakable sound of laughter.

She swung sideways, letting the bramble take her weight as she reached out to another, slightly out of her reach. Another bolt shook the cliff and her bramble ripped away from the stone, giving her the extra few inches she needed to grab the new one. She leapt for it and clung, gasping, to the new handhold.

The vine was thinner than the old one, and she prayed desperately that it would hold. Her hands spasmed and slipped as they bled, but she hauled herself up with new found strength. This time she found a foot-hold and wedged her toes into it, digging into the cliff with her nails and looking back up.

A third bolt screeched through the air towards her, and she flinched and held on grimly, waiting for the shock wave. This one soared past her with a roaring sound. She opened one eye to see the glimmer of black sparks, shielding her from what would have been a deadly attack.

"Can you climb up?" Numair shouted down, his voice over-quick. She tested the bramble and shook her head, feeling it give. He nodded and leaned down, his voice uncertain "I can pull you up but... I'll have to stop shielding you."

"Do it!" She yelled back. He nodded and started making that strange shape with his hands again. The shield faded, and Daine hugged the edge of the cliff and hoped the soldiers wouldn't notice that she was vulnerable again.

The stone quivered under her foot, and tiny sharp rocks rained down from her upper hand-hold. "Hurry!" she cried, looking around desperately for another handhold in the near-sheer cliff.

"Let go!" He held out a hand to her. She laughed wildly, and heard the soldiers' laughter echo her own hysterics.

"Are you _crazy?" _

"Let go!"

She drew in a deep breath, shut her eyes, and let go of the cliff. For a stomach-churning moment she fell backwards, and felt the sucking roar of the massive drop at her back. And then she was being held by invisible hands, which gripped her wrists and dragged her upwards. The soldiers shouted, pointed, and another bolt of lightning sped towards her as Numair's hands closed around her wrists, and her feet were suddenly on beautiful, sturdy ground. They ran blindly, dragging each other over jagged rockfalls and jumping cracks in the path for miles until, exhausted, they collapsed in the lee of a tiny copse of dead trees.

"Th...thank you!" Daine gasped, her lungs feeling like they were burning. Numair didn't answer, but drew her into his lap and kissed her cheek, the exhausted action oddly tender.

"You frightened me, magelet." He said, his voice a shadow of its normal tone. She stiffened at his kiss, not knowing how to respond, and then caught sight of the hand that rested on her arm.

"Numair... your hand!" She grabbed at it, not letting him drag it away. The nails were quite black, the fingertips swollen. Both of their hands were twisted with the cold, and dark with broken veins, but the shapes of his fingers were more pointed than they had been before, and more horribly familiar. The imprint of a feather ran up the back of one hand, following the artery like a deadly promise. "I thought this had stopped!"

"Well, it went away for a while," he said, his voice guarded.

"Why has it started again?" She rubbed at the nails desperately, as if she could simply clean off the curse. A thought made her stop, and her face turned pale. "Was it because you used your magic?"

He didn't answer, but she could see the darkness now, dancing in his eyes and pulsing in his throat. He tightened his hand around hers and shut his eyes, eyelids flickering as his mind raced.

"Go to sleep," she whispered, not knowing anything else that might help. "I'll find food."

"There _is_ no food." There was gentle mockery in his voice, and he rested his head against her shoulder. His voice was quiet, not quite pleading, "Stay with me, Daine."

"Yes," she whispered, and kissed the crown of his head. "Of course."

He drifted into the uneasy sleep of the feverish, and she kept watch, stroking his hair back from his forehead until, after a few hours, the worry-line faded from between his eyes and he began to sleep peacefully. Only then did she let her own eyes slide shut.

In the early hours of the morning she awoke with a start, because the hand that she held had suddenly turned icy cold. Her fingers constricted around it impulsively, and she felt the flesh move under her fingers. Horrified, she opened her fist to see feathers growing and shrinking in front of her eyes, bursting through his skin like growing flowers and retreating into tiny bumps which ran across both hands. Turning, she could see the same pebbling on his neck, shifting and oozing across his throat and his cheeks as cold sweat beaded his forehead, and he twitched in his sleep.

"Numair..." she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek and stopping, her hand shaking a few inches from his boiling skin. When she finally found the courage to lay her fingertips on his cheek his eyes flew open, and she gasped. They were black, bead-like, the eyes of a bird, and they stared at her with savage emptiness.

"You...you're the hawk?" She asked the black eyes, her voice steadier than she felt. The eyes narrowed, not blinking, but kept staring at her. The arms that held her tightened- not in the affectionate way that Numair did, but holding on to her with grim intent. "I won't try to escape," she told it gently, picturing her window in her mind and letting the copper fire stream towards it like she would with any other bird. "You can do what you like. I wouldn't think of stopping you. I'll not be a threat."

The hawk did blink, then, the rest of the face expressionless as those eyes took on a strange, almost confused mask. She slowly took her hand down from Numair's cheek, feeling the hawk's tense shoulders relax a little as she retreated. _It can understand me! He said it didn't understand anyone. But it's just the same as any bird. _

She took a shallow breath, knowing not to make any sudden moves, and stared back levelly at it. _It mustn't see me as prey, or as a threat. It's confused now. Better keep it that way. _

"Can you speak?" She asked it, and when it didn't respond she tilted her head to one side, asking the question like a bird would. It tilted its own head, its confusion turning to frank curiosity as it studied the strange creature it had trapped. Daine could feel the hands on her back shifting from claws to hands and back again, and knew that Numair must be in there somewhere, behind those beady eyes, fighting the creature. Well, it had seen her now. It was curious, but she was in no mood to answer its questions! She made her voice stern, and chose her words carefully.

"Now, this is fair foolish of you, Hawk. See, you can take over and have fun and all that, but there are soldiers looking for us, and they won't know that you're the hawk. They'll think you're the human they're looking for, and they'll kill you, or lock you up again, like that!" she snapped her fingers, deliberately quick, and the hawk flinched back. The claws dug painfully into her back for a moment, but she cleaned closer. "I know you didn't like being locked up before. That chain hurt, didn't it?"

The bird breathed out in a hiss, and the claws moved, scoring lines in her tunic. She gasped and arched away from the pain, and one of the claws moved to grip her upper arm. Sharp talons bit into the muscle there as the creature leaned closer, black eyes dead in Numair's empty face.

"_Hurrrrrrt..." _It hissed, forcing the word through human muscles that it did not know how to use. It dragged her so close that she could see red dots in those black eyes, swimming dizzily in the moonlight as the vice-like claws pinched tighter, and tighter, until white hot flashes of pain swam across her sight.

"I'm not your prey." She said coldly, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying out. Instead of responding to its attack, she made her voice persuasive and laid every drop her stubborn will into the words.

"I'm not saying you can't have fun, hawk. I just reckon that you might not want to do it now. Who wants to fly in the winter? Now is the time to roost and rest, not peck for pathetic earthworms in the frozen ground."

It paused, and looked around uncertainly, hunching shoulders as if it could ruffle feathers against the winter cold. Daine hid a smile, not knowing if this creature could read it. She had it!

"Give my friend his body back." She ordered, pouring copper fire into every word, and the bird closed its eyes. "That's right," she whispered, feeling magic drain from her fingertips into Numair's hands. The feathers melted away, and the claws withdrew from her skin. She collapsed forward, energy still flowing from her like pouring water. "Stay away..." she whispered, and shut her eyes.

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Numair stirred, shivering in the cold morning air with absolutely no memory of anything that had happened during the night. He couldn't even remember dreaming. He looked at his hands and saw that they were human again- swollen, chapped fingers topped with chipped nails. He'd not meant for Daine to see the feather marks that had tattooed them the night before. They usually vanished overnight, and left him with nothing more sinister than a pounding headache. But he felt stronger than ever today, and frowned. He moved to pull the fur tighter around both of them, and paused. Daine barely even stirred at the movement.

"Daine?" he asked, stroking her hair back from her temple. Her eyelashes fluttered, but she didn't respond. Panicking, he sat up straighter so that he could see her properly, inspecting her head for bruises from the rockslide, but she was unharmed.

A thought occurred to him, and he shut his eyes tight and meditated. It took him a few frustrating minutes to calm down enough to even breathe evenly, but when he finally managed to look inside his own core he only needed a second's glance to confirm his suspicion. Dragging himself out of his meditation, he blinked to clear his eyes of the glow of copper fire that once again barricaded the hawk into its cage.

"How are you _doing _that?" He demanded, genuinely baffled. She didn't move, and he sighed and shifted back into a more comfortable position, letting her head fall back limply against his chest. He didn't mind the chance to lie quietly, stroking her hair as he tried to organise his thoughts. Now that he knew she wasn't hurt, just magically drained, his panicking heart slowed and he was content to simply let her sleep. She cuddled closer to him every time she drifted closer to wakefulness, and he felt his heart turn over.

She had been hurt when he'd turned her down, and he'd had to force himself not to call her back and apologise. The words had been so logical, so reasonable in his head. They'd sounded harsh and cruel when he said them out loud. She'd flinched away, and he'd seen some of her thoughts, naked in her eyes.

He'd told himself that he'd _had_ to hurt her, to make sure that she wasn't hurt more brutally in the future. In a few years, he hoped she'd be happy, and free, and living her own life without people hunting her down. And he knew that every time she looked at him, she would remember their escape, and the room they'd been locked in, and what had happened to her in that prison. Over time, he thought, her affection would turn from love into friendliness, and from friendliness into indifference, but she'd feel obliged to stay with him out of gratitude, or because she felt she owed him.

It didn't matter that he was starting to think he was in love with her. His initial protectiveness of the strange, ragged child had slowly turned into something he'd never thought about before. He'd realised that when he'd pushed her away from him. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to pull her back and kiss her until every confused thought fled from his mind, but still he'd pushed her away. He would rather she was hurt by that, than realise that what he had done was a gesture that betrayed how much more he cared about her. Better she think he wasn't interested.

His thoughts raced on, and he was just concluding that human beings really were horribly complicated creatures when she sighed, and her eyes opened. She sat bolt upright, her eyes searching his face for a split second, but she relaxed as soon as their eyes met.

"Good morning..." she breathed, relief obvious in her voice. He looked at the sky and raised an eyebrow.

"It's more like afternoon, magelet!" he told her, his voice deliberately dry. She frowned and bit her lip, looking up at the sun and then colouring.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

He didn't answer for a moment, looking down the pass at the town they had to sneak in to. "It's only half a day's walk, and we need to get there after nightfall." He said, voicing one of the plans that had mingled with his spiralling thoughts that morning. "So we don't need to move for a few hours."

She nodded, rubbing at the dark smudges that lined her eyes. "I'm so tired." She admitted, and smiled gratefully when he pulled her close again. "It must have been from climbing that cliff. Sorry."

"You used your magic, didn't you?" He wondered why she was lying to him. The sharp breath she took confirmed she'd wanted to hide it from him. Part of him wished he could see her expression, but she was cursed good at hiding her thoughts when she wanted to. He laughed shortly, unable to stop himself sounding curt. "Do you think I can't see into my own magic, little one?"

She twisted her hands together. Her voice was very quiet. "You can... see what I did?"

He nodded, and then realised she couldn't see it. "Yes," he prompted, and she looked up.

"Could you tell me what it is? I don't know. I wanted something to happen, and then it did, and I couldn't stop it. But I don't know what I did!"

"You don't know?" he drew a sharp breath, and this time his laughter was genuinely amused. "That makes two of us, magelet! Well, what happened, then? I suppose I can give it a guess."

She looked at her hands, twisted together, and then back up at him. "You turned into the hawk." She said quietly, and bit her lip when he flinched.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked, eyes intense. She shook her head.

"No. I spoke to you... to it. Numair, that thing isn't _you. _You were in there, fighting with it, and it was keeping you trapped. I _spoke _to it."

He blinked, and looked away. The idea that the hawk was not simply a part of his own mind was something that had never occurred to him. It would mean he wasn't responsible for its actions, but at the same time it would also mean that the thing that had controlled his life for so long was actually living his life for him, using his body as a shell of meat to drag around. And since she had decided that the hawk was someone else...

"You said I didn't hurt you." He pressed, his eyes dangerous, "Did the _hawk _hurt you?"

She smiled too brightly and changed the subject. "I told it that there was no point playing in the winter. Animals don't like this time of year. I don't blame them." She looked at the iron-grey sky and shivered. "And after a while it went away, but I had to push it, and that's where my magic went. Pushing."

"After a while." He echoed. She tried to ignore him again, so he grabbed her shoulders to make her turn and look at him. "Daine, I'm _serious..." _he started, and then saw that she had turned white at his touch. He took his hand slowly away from her shoulder, and she raised a shaking hand to the bloodstained fabric without looking at him.

"Like I said," She said stiffly. "It was the hawk, not you. So why should I tell you what happened? You weren't even there." She stood up and picked up the fur, folding it up and tying it across her back. The movement made her reel dizzily for a moment, and she pressed a hand obstinately over her eyes until the crushing weariness subsided. "We have to get down the cliff before nightfall. Let's go."

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	17. Part 2: Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is for anyone who is getting back into their studies right now. Hope you're not too overwhelmed!

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Chapter 7

A maid opened the side-door furtively, and a beam of warm golden light fell through it and lit up the two vagabonds. She covered her mouth at the sight of them, and waved them through. When the warmth of the room struck her Daine suddenly felt a wave of sleepiness, and had to will her eyes not to slide shut. She hadn't eaten for nearly a fortnight, and she didn't know if she'd be able to raise the strength to wake up again.

They had found the house easily enough, but had to spend so much time crouching behind corners and checking for passing townsfolk that it had taken until the early hours of the morning for them to actually reach the peaceful, wealthy-looking street. They had no doubt that if they were spotted by even a single person they would be caught. They were so bedraggled, so frozen and emaciated, that they barely looked human. When they found the house they slipped around to the back gate, past the stables which were built onto the servants' wing of the house, and knocked hesitantly at the kitchen door. It was no wonder the maid had nearly cried out at the sight of them, but they were both so exhausted that they barely noticed her slipping out of the room until she returned.

An old woman rustled into the room behind the maid, her silvery hair gathered into a long braid, and a brocade sleeping robe clutched around her throat. She paused to look at them, but unlike the maid she didn't react past a quick flutter of her eyes. She nodded to the other woman and gestured for them to sit by the fire, tucking her own slippered feet neatly up from the ashes on the floor.

"You need to eat, and then sleep." She said in a steady, calm voice. "It's all arranged for you. You're safe. Your questions can wait, and no-one here will ask you for answers." The maid returned with two bowls of thin porridge, and handed them to them. Daine stared at her portion numbly, her brain refusing to recognise it as food.

"Eat, little one." Numair said, seeing her struggle. She looked up at him, and he took her hand and curved her fingers gently around the spoon. "Eat."

The porridge was good, made with rich milk and sweetened with honey, but she could only manage a few spoonfuls. Numair urged her to eat another, but after that she put the bowl down and pressed a hand to her stomach, feeling obscenely full. The woman watched them in silence, and then took hold of the girl's hand. Daine looked at the woman's withered, white, manicured fingers next to her own, grimy and gnarled hands. Mutely, she let the woman lead her out of the kitchen and up a flight of stairs. The whole house was warm, and silent, and the wood-panelled corridors pressed in on her like the urgency of sleep. She didn't remember falling into bed, only an impossible softness, and then darkness.

She had no idea how long she slept for. When her eyes opened she felt strangely empty, as if she'd finished all her allocated sleep for the year, and would never be able to sleep again. Her arm tingled strangely, and when she raised a hand to the claw marks she found a smooth, magically-healed scar. She sat up and looked around the room, seeing the same wooden panels that she remembered from the corridors, and the wide window that was shut tight against the cold. She stared at it, wondering at the colours that shone through the glass. The sky was blue, and the clouds were yellow, and the black shadows of distant birds danced through it.

The door clicked, and a woman stuck her head through. She grinned widely when Daine looked around, and then disappeared. The girl was just thinking about standing up and following her when the woman reappeared, carrying a covered plate and a cup.

"Ah, you're awake!" She said roundly, handing over the crockery. Daine sipped from the cup, tasting the sweetness of spiced milk. The woman smiled approvingly until she drained the whole glass, and then put the plate down on the table. A maddening scent of cinnamon rose from under the cloth. "You can pick at those later." The maid declared. "Missus says you're to get some flesh on your bones, child! But you'd be wise to let your stomach settle first."

She led Daine into a small anteroom the girl hadn't noticed before, which held a large bathing tub. The maid pulled a cord which hung down from the ceiling, and a score of maids brought in pail after pail of steaming water. Daine let herself be washed, still half-drugged with too much sleep. Despite herself, she found her eyes sliding shut as she lay in the warm water. The maid hummed cheerfully to herself as she scrubbed at the girl's hair, rinsing it over and over again until the water ran clear. Daine caught sight of the filthy water and flinched, thinking of the elegant bed and the filth that she must have coated it in. When the maid wrapped her in a thick towel and led her back into her room, though, the bed had already been changed by another one of the many maids.

"You get yourself dressed, duck." The maid said, gesturing at some clothes that had been laid out neatly on the clean sheets. Daine touched the soft fabric hesitantly, but by the time she thought to thank the maid she had disappeared.

She pulled the dress over her head first, struggling until she realised that it was held closed with a tiny line of delicate shell buttons. She scowled and yanked it off her head, undoing the buttons until she could tug it over her shoulders, then doing up the fiddly clasps one by one with fingers that were still split with chilblains. Finally, she knotted the matching girdle fitfully around her waist. Part of her was whispering that she'd never worn a dress this fine before in her life, the other part was irritated that the garment was so impractical. It fit her more tightly than the ragged tunics she'd worn in prison, and she felt almost trapped by it. She sighed and started to comb her hair, discovering that the covered plate was full of oat biscuits and eating them with growing hunger. Her stomach growled, and even when she'd finished the biscuits she was still ravenous. The dense scent of roasted meat was drifting up the stairs, and she made up her mind to hunt down a proper meal.

Daine was about to leave when she caught sight of something moving in the corner of the room. She gasped and span around, but there was no-one there. There was only a large square of steel polished to a bright shine, the kind of thing she'd seen tucked away in the corners of some of the officials' rooms. She hadn't liked them, then. One man had become two. But this one was different. It didn't hold a man, but a woman she didn't recognise. She wasn't a tall woman, and she fit inside the square of metal perfectly. A simple green dress fell from her shoulders in a scooping neckline, gathered by a simple knotted girdle at her waist, where it curved out gently over her slight hips and fell to the floor in soft folds. The tips of bare toes peeked from under that skirt, and it was then that Daine realised that she was looking at her own reflection.

She stared at it, dumbfounded. Did her hair really curl like that? Did it really shine so brightly when it was washed, and fall so far down her back when it was released from its braid? Those grey eyes, so wide as they stared at what must surely be a painting- did they really belong to her? She stepped closer, and wondered at her long eyelashes, raising her fingers to her cheeks to touch every freckle that she never knew existed until that moment.

The creature they'd dressed in rags and paraded in the country didn't recognise this woman. No wonder the farmers and soldiers had mocked her. Was this what she was supposed to look like? Another thought made her blush: was this what Numair had glimpsed, when he called her beautiful?

_I can't let him see me like this! _She thought in mild, nonsensical panic, her hands falling away from her face. _I don't look like me anymore! _

There was a soft knock at the door, and she jumped and moved guiltily away from the mirror. It didn't occur to her that the knocker wouldn't just come in until they knocked again, and she realised she had to invite them in. She cleared her throat and made a sound, because she had no idea what the right words might be.

The maid bustled in with a bundle of clothes over one arm and something held in her other hand. She put the clothes down on the chest at the end of the bed and then turned around, stopping short as she finally caught sight of the girl. Daine looked down at her feet, humiliated, and waited for the woman to laugh at her, or leave.

"I've brought you some shoes, miss." The woman said suddenly in a warm, bossy voice. "Soft shoes, they are, for dancing. Herself asked that I bind your feet up for you first, seein' as how I'm a healer." She clicked her tongue against her teeth when Daine obediently sat down on the edge of the bed and raised her skirts, revealing her broken and gnarled feet. "Aye, that'll take a bit of work, duck. But not to worry! We have time, and patience, and best of all..." she winked and pulled out a pot, "We have Auntie Bennitte's best balm, don't we?"

Daine nodded mutely, watching Bennitte smoothing the thick paste onto her feet. It was cool, and tingled strangely at first, but when the woman wrapped soft bandages around it the ointment began to emit a soft warmth which made her wriggle her toes in delight. Bennitte smiled and slipped the dancing shoes over the bandages.

"Have you never worn shoes before, miss?" She asked when Daine hesitantly put her weight on the soft soles. The girl shook her head, and then shrugged. She supposed she must have, when she was a child, but she couldn't remember...! Her feet felt as warm as if she'd curled them up under her blanket on a summer's night, and she couldn't remember them ever feeling this comfortable. It was as if the clouds had come down from the sky and wrapped themselves around her toes! She smiled and thanked the woman, who grinned widely at the single word.

"Not used to strangers, are you duck?" She didn't wait for an answer, but bobbed a curtsey and turned to leave. "Well, you just remember Auntie Bennitte, for like me or not I'll be here with you twice a day!"

The shoes did the trick. Daine didn't want to be seen, but she couldn't sit alone in her room when every step made her smile in wonder. She opened the door carefully and slipped through, looking for the main hall. The place looked different in daylight. The wooden halls that had seemed so dark and close the night before, now seemed warm and cosy against the frosty winter sunlight. Fires roared in large fireplaces in the hallways, so that no cold could creep in through the doors, and although for a noble's house the place was small, everything in it was elegant and beautiful to Daine's eyes. She stumbled a few times when her shoes brushed against the thick rugs, and ended up holding on to the stair banister for support. The combination of shiny wooden stairs and the slippery cloth shoes might defeat her, but she wouldn't surrender without a fight!

"Do you need some help, miss?" She looked back along the corridor towards the voice and there was a sharp intake of breath. "_Daine? _Is that you! You look..!" Numair collected himself and managed to look nonchalant when he sauntered towards her, but he couldn't stop his face from breaking into a grin when he looked her up and down.

"Don't laugh at me," she said darkly, looking away. He laughed, and then realised she was being serious and took her hand.

"Laugh at you? Daine, you look beautiful." He said, his voice sincere, his eyes honest. She flushed and looked at her feet, and wondered how far she might be able to run in these shoes. He picked up on her embarrassment and leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't worry magelet, I won't say anything if you don't want me to. But I think other people might notice, too!"

"They don't know what I'm supposed to look like." She muttered. He opened his mouth to retort to that, and then shrugged.

"Can't you walk in those shoes?" He asked instead, gesturing at the soft brown slippers. She coloured and hid them under her skirts, and then realised she was being foolish and nodded. He grinned. "Liar. I saw you arguing with the stairs."

"This is so stupid." She said, humiliated, and sat down on the top step to start untying the laces on one of the shoes. "I'd rather have broken feet than a broken neck, no matter what the lady says."

"Luckily, it's not a choice you'll have to make." The man said lightly, picking her up easily. She gasped and clung to him, instinctively made nervous by the height of him next to the steepness of the stairs. He waited for her to relax, and carried her downstairs. At the bottom of the flight she expected him to let her go straight away, but he hesitated and held her a little more closely.

"Perhaps I shouldn't put you down," he joked, but the words seemed a little forced. "Looking like that, I might never get you back!"

"Of course you would!" She said without thinking, and then reddened. Their argument was never far from her mind, and if he was just being playful she didn't want to ruin it by reminding him of the things he'd said. She really wanted to kiss him at that moment, but she wouldn't, because she knew it was forbidden. But she wanted him to know that he was important, that she wasn't some flighty girl who ran off with strangers because of a pretty green dress. She rested her forehead against his, and looped her arms around his shoulders, and smiled when his arms tightened around her back.

_If nothing else,_ she thought, _it can be like it was in the prison. Before it got complicated. No-one could object to that, not even him!_

"Daine..." He started, his voice quiet, "When I said..."

Someone cleared their throat loudly, and they both looked around with a start. A manservant waited to direct them into the hall, and had obviously felt the need to interrupt. The girl wanted to slap him. She looked at Numair enquiringly, but the moment had passed, and whatever he'd started to say had danced away unsaid.

"Is your shoe tied on properly?" The mage asked. His voice was playfully over-solicitous for the benefit of the servant. Daine nodded, and he smiled and set her neatly on her feet. "Let me know if you have any more trouble with the stairs."


	18. Part 2: Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you for all your reviews this week! This chapter is for all of you, but especially for the new faces: Bodner, Christer1979, Fyra and SillyMessyCrazy, it's nice to hear from you!

A few of you have mentioned that you have expectations as to where this is going... let me know how many you got right!

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Chapter 8

"Alanna will be here in a few weeks." Lady Hazelle sipped the last of her wine gracefully, and a servant rushed forward to refill the goblet. Daine had to stop herself from staring, not knowing how to react to the opulent dining hall, the dainty food, and the army of servants who seemed able to read their mistress's mind in a split second. The lady had such quiet self-assurance that even the usually-confident Numair was taken aback, and both the guests listened in silence to her speak. The lady seemed used to that, and recited information she'd read in Alanna's letter in a soft, cultured tone.

"We're very grateful..." Numair started, and then bit off his words when the lady held up a hand.

"Yes, yes. And I am glad to help. There, we've finished that whole conversation! Now, spare me your compliments, please, they bore me."

Daine hid a smile and ate another spoonful of stew. She knew her stomach would object later to all this rich food, but she couldn't help but try everything. She found she liked the lady more with every sardonic word she spoke. She still couldn't make herself speak to her, mind, but it had only taken half an hour before she could stop staring at her plate and make herself eat. The lady didn't exactly ignore her, but she was distant enough that Daine didn't feel like she was being watched and judged with every bite.

"So, what else did Alanna say?"Numair asked, leaning his head on his hand. He'd been awake longer than Daine, and had apparently eaten before this meal, since he didn't eat as ravenously as his friend. Still, he picked at his bread as he spoke. Lady Hazelle carefully moved a coil of her steel-grey hair behind her ear, where it blended with the perfectly coiffed ringlets.

"Well, some of it doesn't bear repeating, as you can probably imagine. I declare that she spends more time around soldiers than in polite company!"

"But don't you know her through George?" Daine didn't understand why Numair's question made the lady redden and then laugh, but it seemed to break through some of the old lady's formal ways.

"Well, that's another story, my dear." She picked up her wine again and tapped her fingernail against the glass. "He's a naughty boy, that one, but his little games certainly distract one from the tedium of watching oneself become ancient." She put the glass down, wine untouched, and smiled. "I fear that I cannot show you the letter, Master Salmalin, because you are not the only thing our friends find of interest in this little valley of ours."

"Understood." Numair smiled, seemingly perfectly comfortable with the strange, courtly conversation, although his words were mockingly exaggerated when he replied. "Perhaps, then, a paraphrase would suffice?"

The lady raised her finely-plucked white eyebrows at Daine, who choked back a laugh. Hazelle winked unexpectedly, and then took a breath and turned back to the mage.

"She begins by explaining your plight. She vouches for you, and she says that your word is good enough to trust Mistress Daine, too. Do you have a surname, dear?"

Daine reddened at the question, and looked away. The lady seemed not to notice, and carried on.

"The next part was rather more emphatic. I was explicitly directed to, and I quote, 'find out what that idiot's been doing for all these years' and, further, enquire why you have not contacted your friends before this. I confess myself curious about these same points, but I will not press you for answers."

"That's kind of you," Numair started weakly, but the lady held up a hand to stop him.

"Not, you understand, because I do not wish to know what you will say. It is merely that I will enjoy watching Alanna ask those questions almost as much as I will enjoy hearing your answers."

"...thank you." The man's voice was dry. Daine wondered what they were talking about. It seemed like some private joke they were sharing, but she couldn't help thinking it was making Numair uncomfortable. A servant took her emptied bowl away and replaced it with some kind of milk and millet pudding. The steam smelled of honey, but she found that it made her sleepy, not hungry. She yawned and rested her head in her hands, not caring that her elbows were rudely planted on the table, and watched the others speak with sleepy fascination.

"In the meantime," Hazelle was saying, "You will both stay here as my guests. My... hm. My distant cousin, I think. Yes, and a great-niece. There will be a few formal dinners, I'm afraid, but the people here are tiresomely dull. You can smile and nod your heads, I'm sure, and they'll be convinced that you are one of their set. My men tell me that the soldiers are scouring the valley looking for a pair of vagabonds." She laughed suddenly, and it was almost a cackle. "Well, by the time I'm through with you, they'll be sipping fine wine in your company and apologising for the curfew! We'll call you Leto. You'll be Annette." She nodded at Daine, who blinked at the sudden change in conversation.

"Leto? Really?" Numair laughed, and the old lady smiled back.

"I thought you might know what it means. The fun is in hiding secrets right under their noses, isn't it, my dear?"

"Yes ma'am, but if it's going to put us in danger..." he started, and Daine yawned. She didn't know what the word meant, she just knew the fire was warm, and her stomach was full, and her feet were starting to ache in the unfamiliar shoes. She saw a servant lean down to whisper into Hazelle's ear, and the woman looked up sharply.

"It seems that Bennitte is ordering you to bed, little Annette. She's determined to mother you! I apologise for keeping you up so late. Give your great-aunt a kiss goodnight, and be off with you!"

Daine stood up and walked around the table sleepily, and as she leaned down to kiss the lady's papery cheek she felt a rush of genuine affection for the woman. She'd let perfect strangers into her house, treated them like honoured guests, and was calmly planning how to hide them in her own home. Hazelle raised her cheek for the kiss and smiled gently at her, her wrinkled eyes showing bright good humour.

"Come and see me tomorrow." She said, catching hold of Daine's elbow before she could leave. "I think you're someone I'd like to get to know better. Just us girls, eh?" She flicked her eyes at Numair, and then grinned widely when Daine couldn't help reddening. "Yes, I think we'll find each other quite entertaining, dearest little Annette."

The lady brushed her own rouged lips against the girl's cheek, and then let go. She flicked her fingers out, and Daine realised Bennitte was standing beside her, arm ready to escort her from the room. She hadn't even heard the woman come in.

_This place is bizarre. _She thought as they left.

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She longed for the black dreamlessness she had felt before. Anything would be better than this. She twisted in the too-soft sheets and felt them wrap around her legs, trapping her, making it impossible for her to run. The red glow of the warm, banked fire became a baleful eye in her nightmare, which grinned and scowled at her in equal measure. She held out her hands to stop it, but all she could do was block out the light. When she lowered them and tried to slip back into peaceful sleep, the red eye returned.

It was the early hours of the morning before she finally gave up, gasping as she escaped the clutches of yet another vile demon. The house was silent, and warm, and as much as she gasped for air she felt like she was drowning. Throwing open the window didn't help, because the cold night was still and breathless, and horribly silent. She missed the sounds of marching feet. She missed the distant maniacal laughter. She missed the black exhaustion of being starved and overworked. She missed the things which had sung her to sleep for so many years. And she wondered why she was only missing them now. She was wondering that, staring at the grey-orange night storm clouds, when she felt the twisting warmth that was her memory of him, and realised that what she missed the most was having his arms around her, safe and warm.

She turned around without even thinking about it, ready to leave. Would he even want her, now? He had his own soft bed and warm fire. He was probably sleeping peacefully, dreaming of his beautiful palaces and loving friends while she stood sleepless by the window. And yet, she knew that wasn't right. The part of her that was embraced by his black magic felt unsettled, listless, and she could hear the copper magic she had given him calling out to her sleeplessly. Perhaps she just longed for him too much, and she was imagining it. But she found her way to his room without even thinking about it, drawn by the glitter of their gifts, and opened the unfamiliar door with the sure knowledge that it was the right place.

She crept into the dark room, and stood uncertainly at the side of his bed. He was sleeping, but very uneasily, with the soft pillows thrown onto the ground and his head resting on his arm. When a floorboard creaked under her foot Daine winced, and his eyes flew open. They adjusted to the light, and took in her thin silhouette standing there.

"Daine," he said sleepily, "Is that you? Are you alright?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, and the words came out in a tiny voice she barely recognised. "I can't sleep. I keep dreaming... they're coming to get me... and I'm... I'm all alone... and I don't know what to do."

He blinked at her, and held out a hand without another word. She took it and lay down next to him, like she had for all the nights in the prison, and all the nights in the mountains. She rested her head on his shoulder and felt his arm curve around her, and felt the traces of her nightmare drift away like harmless smoke. She sighed and shut her eyes, simpler dreams already lifting soft wings towards her. Numair kissed her forehead sleepily and shut his own eyes, and this time when his eyes shut his own dreams were deep and peaceful.

_Daine. _

The voice pulled her from the warm darkness and she moaned and turned her face away, trying to sink back into that quiet, safe haven.

"Daine, sweetling, wake up." Something moved from her waist and she felt pressure against her head. It took her a moment to register that it was a hand, stroking her hair back from her eyes. Grey light fell across her closed eyelids, and she raised a hand to cover her eyes.

"...u-mair?" She managed, confused.

"That's right. Wakey wakey!" She could hear the sadistic humour in his voice. She glared at him from under her hand, forcing her sleepy eyes open and realising how weak the pre-dawn light was.

"'s really _early, _Numair! I migh' have to hurt you."

"You'd have to actually wake up to do that." He retorted drily. When she lowered her hand, still wincing at the weak light, he was smiling. "There, that's better."

"So, why 'm I awake?" Daine asked the grudging question, rubbing her eyes until they felt like they might actually stay open.

"I thought we should talk, while everyone else is still asleep." He hesitated, and she stopped rubbing her eyes to look sidelong at him.

"Well, c'n I go back to sleep after?" She muttered. He smiled, amused enough to lose his pensive look, and nodded. She smiled back, and rolled onto her side so she could see him without having to crane her neck. "S'ms fair. What's wrong?"

"What do you think of Lady Hazelle?" He asked. Daine blinked, surprised, and wondered what he meant. The lady had seemed friendly enough to both of them the night before, and generous to a fault.

"Did she say something to you after I went to bed?" She asked, bewildered. He shook his head, the hesitation returning to his expression as he chose his words.

"I thought that... because of who George is, and... and how close we are to the border, that..." He shut his eyes in frustration for a moment, and then started again. "I should have told you before we arrived, but for all I knew she could have been one of Alanna's friends from court. I wasn't expecting her to be as _deeply _involved..." He stopped again and smiled sardonically at himself, and the look of absolute confusion that was written across Daine's face. His words became blunt. "Magelet, she's a spy. She's built up a network here. She's not asking us questions because she already _knows_ the answers."

_That explains all the double talk at dinner. _Daine thought, remembering thinking she'd just been too tired to make sense of their conversation. Still, it didn't change anything.

"So?" The girl frowned, "She's helping us. Why should we care what else she does? It's not our business."

"Because... how will we repay her, Daine?" When she didn't answer, he turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, as if he could see his worries mapped out on it in shining inks. "Something's going on here, and it's something big. If it wasn't then Hazelle could smuggle us out of the valley in a few days, and Alanna could meet us in Tortall. Why would Jon let her risk coming to a fortified city in the middle of the Gallan border?"

"Galla's not at war with Tortall." Daine pointed out, wondering if she'd missed something in the years she'd been locked up.

"No. But _something's _going on. I'm sure of it." He sighed and tugged at his nose, thinking. "Well, perhaps I'm being dramatic, but either way... if you want to leave, we can."

She couldn't believe her ears. "Leave! Why?"

He looked at her for a long moment, a line between his eyes. "Daine, if something happens in this valley, how will the officials respond?"

"They'll send out the soldiers." She said automatically, and then added more slowly, "And then the mages..."

"Right. And then someone who knows how the mages think, and how the prison works, would be beyond value. They'd be used as a weapon by one side, and a target by the other." He finished pointedly. She paled and looked away, wondering why it had taken so long for her to work it out. Of course. She knew the layout of the keeps, down to every last corridor. She knew which mages were locked up there: what they could do, and what they had done. She knew... she shuddered... she knew every one of the officials.

Numair reached out to her when he saw her whiten, but the officials faces were so clear in her mind that she flinched away. Of course. Why would anything be different?

"They want to use me." She said flatly.

"Not like that." The man said softly, not trying to touch her again. "Hazelle's a good person, Daine. But you have to see that there's more at stake here than just us. I didn't mean to scare you, I... I just meant that you should know what might happen."

"And you already knew." Her voice was soft, distant. "You knew. You knew all about it."

"How would I know, Daine? I'm just surmising from current..."

"Surmising." Daine's voice grew even quieter, but she cut off his words instantly. "Surmising. Clever word. It means thinking, doesn't it? Yes, that's what it means. It suits you. Lots of clever thinking, all the time. Thinking too much. When did you start? You told me you planned to be taken in to the prison. Did you plan to take me out of it? With your friends conveniently waiting to take you in?"

"What?" He blinked, "Of course I..."

"More thinking." She sat up suddenly and looped her arms around her knees, not looking at him. "I didn't run away just so I could become someone else's toy. I don't care about Galla or Tortall or spies or anything. Can't I just have a life that's mine? Or do I always have to belong to someone else? Is that how the real world works, Numair?" She rounded on him suddenly, her eyes burning. "_Is it?"_

"I didn't plan any of this." He said impatiently. "It could all just be a guess. I just wanted to make sure you had time to think about what you might want to do, if..."

"Do?" She laughed and waved a hand towards the window. The dawn light was spreading slowly over the valley, blocked by the immense cliffs. "What else can I do? You came into my life talking about palaces, and real people, and freedom. You must have thought I was such a fool, believing every word. Trusting you, when you told me that they had to pay for what they did to us... oh, I believed you. But you didn't want to put a knife into my hand. I'm just another weapon your friends can use against them. I'm back in another cage, and I guess you _surmised_ that, too."

"Then why would I ask you if you wanted to leave?" He asked, cutting her tirade off. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was being childish but not caring.

"There's nowhere for me to go. You know that. I don't have anywhere. I don't... I don't have _anyone." _She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, angry at herself for showing emotion. "Oh, let them use me. Why do I even care? It seems to be my lot in life. But please, for the love of all the gods, please stop lying to me. Even the officials never did that. Either tell me your plans or keep me in the dark, but stop pretending that you care about me. And don't ask about what I want to do. It hurts too much."

He was white, his normally dusky skin looking almost blue in the winter light. He opened his mouth to say something, and then looked away. Swallowing several times, he reached out to touch her shoulder, his voice shaking. "But, Daine..."

"Don't touch me!" She jerked away from him and whirled, her eyes furious. "What makes you think you can do that? You touch me one moment, and push me away the next! It's cruel! What gives you the right to do that to me? I'm not your slave."

"No, you're not a slave at all, now." He said, his voice suddenly detatched, icy. "Apart from inside your mind. You'll lash out at me, but you'd still rather let people use you than think of your own path."

"Says the man who's controlled by a _bird._" She retorted, and instantly regretted it. They stared at each other for a long, breathless moment, and then Daine stood up and ran out of the room. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Not even when she was back in her own room, staring at the abandoned fire which had fallen into cold ashes. She sank down with her back against the varnished wood of the door, and let the anger slip from her eyes into her heart. It hurt. It hurt so much that she felt it burn. It hurt so much that she wanted to rip her heart out from her chest and hurl it far away. And that was his doing, too. He'd shown her how to feel again, and like a lovestruck fool she'd believed he loved her back. She must have looked so pathetic. She curled her hands into fists, and felt her nails bite into her palms.

"I _hate _you." She whispered viciously, and felt the words flow from her mind in black-tarnished copper fire.

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	19. Part 2: Chapter 9

A/N:Hello to all of my new reviewers! Special shout outs to McKenzie Vallir for a lovely review, sillymessycrazy and christer1979 for being 'actually killed' by the plot (sorry guys, hope you get resurrected soon!), and bodner, zenbon zakura and Lollipops for making me smile. Keep the reviews coming, guys – especially if I've not heard from you before!

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Chapter 9

"That's a funny place to sleep, duckling!"

Daine opened her eyes blearily, wondering why they were stinging. Then she remembered that she'd cried herself into darkness. She couldn't have slept for more than an hour or so before the maid found her, but she ached as if she'd been lying on the floor all night. Embarrassed, she scrambled to her feet and winced as blood returned to her legs.

Bennette peered closely at her, seeing the red skin and tear traces under her eyes, but didn't say anything. She washed the girl in the same companionable chatter as the day before, dressed her feet, and left her to dress herself. Daine pulled on the warm blue woollen dress numbly, feeling like she should be doing something, but not having any idea what that something might be. When she'd told Numair that there was absolutely nothing else she could do, she hadn't been trying to be dramatic- it was true. She gritted her teeth and tied the girdle around her waist, yanking the thongs so tightly her fingertips went white.

Even if she wanted to choose her own path- so what? She had no skills, no money, no way out of this cussed valley! She was so confused, and angry, that frustrated tears welled in her eyes again.

_I don't __understand__! What does he expect me to do? _She thought, and pressed her hands to her stomach. She thought she'd still be full from the night before, but hunger pangs had started darting sharply across it.

_He's in the kitchen. _She knew it with the same certainty that she'd known where his room was, last night. Then, she'd used their magical link to find him, to run into his arms. Today she shivered and waited, wanting more than anything else to avoid him. The strange floating confusion in her mind was surely written so clearly in her grey eyes that he'd be able to see it. The thing that enslaved her. The thing he'd accused her of. She didn't know how to hide it from her eyes, but she could at least hide from him.

The door clicked open, and she jumped. Her first thought was to hide, but it wasn't the lanky mage who stepped through the door, but Bennette. She smiled a wrinkled greeting and held something out- a sweet bread roll, filled with honey and sprinkled with sunflower seeds.

"Get that in you, pet." She said, smiling when the girl wolfed it down. "Aie, easy there! There's plenty more food where that came from, and it won't try to escape from you, you know! But you're right to hurry." She fetched a thick pair of leather boots from a chest and laced them onto Daine's feet. The girl swallowed the last of the bread and lifted a foot uneasily. Her legs felt far too heavy.

"You're going out. Riding. You can ride, pet? Herself has asked that you ride out with her."

_Outside? _Daine couldn't stop the look of horror crossing her face. She might have expected the maid to laugh at her expression, but the woman sighed and patted her shoulder.

"Aye, it gets easier. She has some strange whims, duckling, but she does know what's best. I've never known her put a foot wrong. _Or _a hoof. Besides, you might like this one." The sky-blue eyes twinkled for a second. "There's a party tonight, you see. She wants to get you looking like a proper lady and... ooh, I thought you'd be happy! Don't look so scared!"

Half an hour later, after three attempts to mount the dainty mountain pony, Daine was too irritated at the stupid dress to feel nervous. Lady Hazelle was looking regal and assured on a silver mare, and smiled a greeting to her "niece" in between directing servants towards certain areas of the market to buy supplies for the banquet. Daine was glad that the woman was too busy to pay her much attention; now that she knew Hazelle was a spy, she watched her with a stunned fascination.

Every word the woman said to her own people was deliberate, direct, but as soon as another noble greeted her she would become vague and simpering, or mysterious, or simply more vacant. There wasn't a single person that she spoke to the same way as another, and none of them seemed to notice it. Years of playing the games of the court had trained Hazelle in the kind of cunning that street con-men spent their lives perfecting. The more she watched the woman, the more Daine realised that Hazelle wasn't just an expert at the game: she loved playing it, too.

"Well, that seems to be everything." Daine jumped as the lady abruptly turned and started talking directly to her. "Shall we go, my dear?" Then, when Daine still hesitated, Hazelle's eyes narrowed playfully. "Annette, you must really stop this silly sulking. People will think you can't speak at all! Your father was just the same. Pshaw, I'll ask you again. Shall we proceed?"

"Yes Auntie." Daine mumbled, nonplussed. Hazelle flashed her a bright smile, and then nudged her horse into a trot. They peeled away from the army of servants, with only a single pair following them. When she looked sidelong at the two men, they were laughing and joking with each other. It was only when Daine looked more closely that she saw the seasoned weapons hidden under their clothes. She bit her lip and paid attention to her pony. The animal was docile, quiet, peacefully following the mare and chewing absently at her bit.

They dismounted by a string of elegant buildings, made of the same grey stone that ringed the valley. Unlike the poorer parts of town, these buildings had carved the stone into intricate patterns. One of them had the shape of a tailor's sign hewn into its door, and when Hazelle strode towards the entry it swung open as if by magic.

"My lady!" The man who had opened the door fawned. "You're here to pick up tonight's attire, yes?"

"My dear Ten." Hazelle smiled, the edges of her eyes crinkling, and gestured behind her. "I have a small, niggling thing troubling me. And I thought- who might help me! And my answer, was, of course..." she gave him her hand, "...my favourite tailor."

"Flatterer." The man twinkled back, and then glanced at Daine. The girl hung back uneasily, and then remembered she was supposed to be a visiting noble. She raised her chin and stepped forward.

"It's freezing, standing out here." She said. Her voice came out quiet, but sounded much more confident than she felt. The tailor blinked, and then bowed them both into his shop. Hazelle laughed and tucked Daine's arm into her own, patting her wrist and then resting her hand over it, so that the girl's nervous trembling was hidden.

"My great-niece decided to visit me unexpectedly. So unexpectedly, that she forgot to pack a dress! I won't have you wearing that ratty pink thing, no matter what you say, and don't you _dare _argue with me, miss!" She rounded on Daine, suddenly fierce, and then sighed dramatically. "Ten, you see what trials I am forced to suffer! Will you help me? If anyone can make a dress worth seeing by tonight, then I'm sure it's you."

"Well..." the man hesitated, and then nodded. "She'll have to stay for a few hours, mind."

"Well, Annette, it will serve you right." Hazelle looked around distractedly, and then turned back. "Ten, I heard that Lord Parsey had an appointment with you. I do hope we won't be taking you away from him?"

"He is running a little late, it seems..." The tailor began, and then stopped when his assistant showed in another customer. Daine felt her blood run cold, and had to clutch at Hazelle's arm with suddenly numb fingers. The woman gave her a warning look, and then her fake smile returned to her face as she looked up at the man Daine only knew as an official.

"Lord Parsey," Hazelle said, and exchanged a few pleasantries with the man, who answered them with the same distant decorum. Daine heard none of it- only the panic roaring in her ears, and the echo of her heartbeat as it raced. She forced herself to show none of it on her face, to look distractedly at the shining bolts of fabric and not at his face. She expected him to recognise her at any moment, but his eyes slid over her with little interest.

"Miss?" One of the assistants bowed to her, and then indicated a selection of fabrics. "We have laid out these for you to choose from. We're sorry we cannot offer more, but these are the fabrics we feel we can prepare by tonight..."

Daine let his voice wash over her like warm water, and smiled at the man. He blushed, which surprised her, and started speaking again. It was something about each cloth, but Daine already knew which one she would choose. It was a soft blue-grey, the same colour as the eyes of the woman she'd seen in the mirror. When she touched it, the fabric slipped through her fingers, and when it moved it caught the light in a shimmer of icy blue.

"This one," she whispered. The clerk bowed again and whisked it away, promising to return with a tape measure.

"Annette." Hazelle appeared by her shoulder, her voice lowered even though the room was now empty. "Ten's showing Parsey out. You know him?"

Daine nodded, swallowed, and then looked directly into the woman's eyes for the first time. There was no confusion, no question in the old woman's expression, and no apology. "You knew I would."

"You did very well. When there are more of them, tonight, you won't be so overwhelmed. We must face the unexpected." She clicked her tongue against her teeth and looked up at the ceiling. "Yes, if we are used to being surprised then the things we _can_ prepare for will seem much easier. It's a hard lesson to learn."

"You should have warned me." The girl ran a hand through her hair in agitation, her heartbeat starting to return to normal, but instead of agreeing the lady shook her head.

"If you'd come across him in the street, would there have been a warning in advance?" Without waiting for an answer, she leaned in closer. "Tell me, is he the leader?"

"No." Daine remembered the man deferring to others – other men whose faces had no names. "He commands the north wing. With the... the older prisoners. I don't think anyone else wants to do it. He... he..." _He smelled stale, like the ashes of ancient memories drifted from the senile prisoners to him, and he always spoke of death. They withered away in front of his eyes, and he just didn't care. He played cards with the guards and ignored his wards. He didn't care if it was their age or their sickness or starvation that took them. He just let them rot. _

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, unable to say anything else out loud. Lady Hazelle rested her hand briefly on the girl's shoulder, and her quiet voice was sincere.

"That's all you need to tell me. I won't ask any more. Thank you."

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The house was barely recognisable by the time Daine returned to it. The two guards had escorted her back, and their laughter was so infectious that by the time they made it back to the stables Daine's dark mood had almost gone. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach when she crossed the courtyard, wondering if a certain lanky mage might be looking out of a window... but when she glanced up, the eyes of the house were all shuttered. Amber candlelight was already glowing through the cracks.

It was a huge banquet, judging by the number of people that arrived even as Bernette was helping her to get ready in the new dress, and another maid was doing something strange to her hair that seemed to involve yanking it away from her scalp so hard it stung. Daine listened to the clatter of arriving horses and soon lost count. When she came downstairs, helped by the maid, the ground floor was seething with people.

"There's a dance before dinner." Bernette told her. "Try to look shy rather than terrified, and remember you can duck away any time you like. We'll be watching out for you."

Duck away! When there were so many people that they weren't human any more. They were a seething mass of silk and satin and perfume and laughter. It was beautiful and overwhelming. Daine realised she couldn't make out the officials that she knew were there, because as soon as she thought she might recognise someone, they were swallowed up in a gavotte, or a reel, or swept away towards the mead. She found a chair resting in a quieter corner and sat down, watching the dancers.

How many of their smiles were real? They seemed so artificial, with their glittering jewellery and gilded eyes, that she didn't trust a single one of them. She sighed and kicked her feet against the polished floor, glad, at least, that no-one would ask her to dance. These were the sort of people the prison guard had been talking about, who would be shocked at his sister walking alone with her beau. They wouldn't dream of asking a stranger to join hands with them. Hypocrites. She was guessing exactly _how _different they would be behind closed doors when a shadow fell across her, and a hand was held out.

She was going to shake her head, and then remembered that she was expected to speak. "I don't want to dance with you." She told him, her voice distant.

"It will look strange if you don't." Numair kept his hand out patiently, but there was a warning note in his voice. "I can guide you through this next one. It won't look like you don't know how to dance."

"I know how to dance." She remembered, vaguely, some country dances from when she was a child. Those coarse steps were very different from the slow, graceful way these nobles moved, but it was still a _dance_. "I said I don't want to dance with _you."_

"How else will I get a chance to apologise?" He demanded, keeping his voice low with an effort. She looked up in surprise, meeting his eyes for the first time, and saw enough to make her look away in quick embarrassment. "Dai... Annette, you can't keep avoiding me. Please, let me talk to you. Just... dance with me. A few minutes, and then you can ignore me for the rest of the night if you need to. But give me this one dance."

His hand hadn't moved. She bit her lip, and then reached up abruptly and took it. His face lit up in a genuine smile, and he helped her to her feet. Daine distracted herself by wondering why women wore these dresses which meant they couldn't even stand up properly without someone helping them. She guessed it made them feel protected, or some such nonsense. It made her want to slap the dressmaker.

For all her boasts that she could dance, Daine was relieved when the lutes started playing slowly: it was the kind of music that even the most sophisticated dancers simply seemed to move to, and not really dance. Numair kept hold of her hand and held her waist with his other hand, waiting for her to copy the other dancers and rest her own on his shoulder before they started moving. After the first few terrifying moments Daine found she could relax and think about other things than the likelihood of tripping over her own feet.

"See?" Numair whispered, smiling, "It's not so bad."

She almost smiled back until she remembered she was angry, and the expression fell from her eyes. She looked away quickly, but felt his hand tighten around her own for a moment.

"I really am sorry, you know." He said quietly. She didn't answer, her eyes still fixed on the other dancers' feet. Shiny silk shoes which whispered over the polished floors. They were like the shoes in the stories he'd told her about Carthak. In real life, they were scuffed from dancing and stained with age.

"Will you be sorry the next time?" She asked, hearing the words in her mind as well as in her voice and knowing he could hear them too. Why even bother to speak? She asked the question with her mind, and felt it dance away in copper fire. _Will I always be a slave to you?_

"No, oh no," He whispered, and then she could hear his reply in her mind, laced with black fire: _It was a horrible thing to say. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. _

_But you still said it. Even if you were angry, it doesn't mean it wasn't true. You're right. I can't do anything except what I'm told to do. I don't know how to be any other way. That's why it hurt. Because you were right. _

Why were the words so honest? It was like being inside her own core. She couldn't hide from the truth in her mind-voice any more than she could disguise the pain in each word. Numair didn't answer for a moment, biting his lip as he glanced at their interlocked hands.

"Let me teach you." He said, finally. "We have a few weeks. If you would like that, I'm sure Lady Hazelle wouldn't object to a little less of our company!"

"Teach me... what?" She asked, baffled. Given their conversation, she half expected him to say basket-weaving, or fishing... something practical. So she laughed out loud when he responded, with an equally nonplussed expression.

"Well – magic!"

"Proper magic? There's no point." She wriggled her fingers on his shoulder, trying to think of a way to explain. "Ma kept testing me, before... everything. I don't have magic."

_We just had a whole conversation inside our heads. _Numair pulled a face at her, and spun her around to avoid a larger woman who had stopped dancing, and seemed to be wilting inside her many ruffles. _And I know you can tell where I am all the time. I can do the same with you. Don't try to tell me that it's not magic doing that, or I'll start laughing in front of all these sour-faced dignitaries. _

_Why is it happening? _She asked. She was relieved beyond words that it had been him that had brought it up. He shrugged, and then pretended he was stretching out a sleepy muscle when another dancer gave him an odd look.

_I really have no idea. But it's getting worse. We should probably find out, don't you think? Otherwise we might be stuck in each other's heads forever! _

She stopped abruptly, not caring that the other dancers hissed and had to swerve around them_. Is that why you want to teach me?_ She demanded, barely remembering to speak in her mind-voice.

"No." He said curtly. "But feel free to keep thinking the worst of me."

She flushed and looked away, feeling very small and horrible. "I'm sorry." She whispered. He smiled and ruffled her hair, forgiving her in an easy second.

"Have we reached a truce, little one?" He asked teasingly. She nodded and smiled back, and was about to say something when a loud crashing sound rang out. Daine squeaked and clung to Numair's arm. He laughed and took her hand.

"It's the dinner gong. Are you hungry?" He began to walk away from the dancing floor, leading her along easily with a stream of meaningless chatter. "I saw them bringing all the food in when you were in town, you know. Candied almonds, and stuffed peppers, and these tiny little fish... I don't know what they're called but they smelled _amazing..." _

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	20. Part 2: Chapter 10

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I had to draw a birthday present for my cousin and it ate all my free time. Shout out to all the lovely reviewers from the last chapter, and all the people who have added this story to their watch list- enjoy!

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Chapter 10

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Hazelle was waiting for each of her guests by the door of the hall, resplendent in shining wineskin satin which seemed to catch shadows rather than light. Next to it, her silver hair shone and her aged skin looked nearly translucent, like delicate pearls caught on the sun-warmed clay of a dried riverbed. Her smile was gentle, genuine, but her eyes were sharp for those who knew how to read her. They flicked from face to face, reading and remembering every emotion and carefully storing them away for future use. When her two houseguests came up to her she sank into a shallow curtsey, and they returned it with much deeper bows. Daine flushed as she straightened up, realising that she probably should have curtseyed, but no-one seemed to have noticed.

"Annette, my dear! Trust you to be one of the last to dinner." The lady kissed her cheek warmly. "You look absolutely stunning. Doesn't she, Leto? Wouldn't Marianne be proud of her?"

"Surely." Numair smiled approvingly at Daine, and then turned his eyes to Hazelle with a slight warning in them. "People won't be able to look away."

"I do spoil my girls, I know." Hazelle sighed and pushed out her lower lip as if she'd been scolded. Then she brightened perceptibly, and beckoned one of her servants over. "Annette, you're sitting beside me. Mieke here will show you where we are. I'll keep her out of trouble, Leto, don't worry!"

"We're not sitting together?" Daine blurted out, feeling grey panic flutter in her stomach for a moment. Hazelle laughed and shook her head.

"We can't keep this fine man tied to our apron strings all night, dearest!" She fluttered her fingers to dismiss the girl, and then caught Numair's sleeve as he went to follow them into the hall, her playful attitude fading. "Leto, wait, I need to speak to you."

"I heard about the trick you played on Da... Annette, earlier." He replied in the same voice, eyes narrowing. "Don't think I won't step in if you try the same thing tonight. Can't you let the poor girl have a few hours of peace, without playing games with her safety?"

"The games will keep her alive." Hazelle sighed, leaning against the doorframe with odd weariness. "But dry your eyes, precious mortal. She'll be safe enough tonight. Safer than she would be with you. Eyes have fallen on you. Eyes that could get... resentful."

"The officials?" He asked, suddenly alert. The corner of Hazelle's mouth turned up, and she shook her head.

"Sadly not! No, I'm talking about the women. The officials' daughters don't often smell fresh meat, and the arrival of a young lord from the North has them baying for blood."

Numair blinked, and then laughed shortly. "You can't be serious!"

"Perfectly." Hazelle studied her nails. "I know you used to be a spy. You know how to play these games. These women know things that could help us. How circumspect do you think their fathers are around their little girls? I'm sitting you next to Lady Karenna – she's their unofficial leader and, my dear, her eyes have been trailing after you like a sick doe all evening. She looked positively _sick _when you danced with Annette. She would tell you anything if she thought she might get something in return..."

"You want me to... to _woo _her?" Numair could barely believe his ears. He stared at her implacable expression incredulously, and then started to laugh. His words were almost impressed. "You knew this would happen! You planned it all from the start!"

"I don't often get attractive young men at my beck and call, I'm sorry to say." She conceded.

"But, Daine..." he started, and the lady interrupted him so quickly that the slipped name could barely be recognised.

"Annette will be safe with me. Forget about her and concentrate on this. The more we know, the better prepared we'll be. I'll look after Annette, don't worry."

_That's not what I meant. _Numair thought, but didn't dare say out loud. _That's not what I was going to say. That's not how Daine will see this. _

He didn't dare look up at the girl for the first half of the meal. He didn't know if it was because he knew that the women were watching him closely, or because he knew the look of confusion in her eyes would be hard to bear. He even tried speaking to her, using their silent mind-voice, but he couldn't reach out to her. _I guess we have to be touching. _

The Lady Karenna spent the first course staring at him in a kind of stunned silence, fumbling with her knife awkwardly and gasping in embarrassment when she spilled her wine. Numair smiled and took out his napkin, soaking up the red liquid from the white linen cloth before it could stain the wood underneath.

"There," he said, trying to remember how he used to speak to women when he was in the court in Corus. "No harm done! It is very warm in here, isn't it? I'm feeling a trifle clumsy myself."

She smiled and ducked her head, laughing for a little too long and a little too loudly for it to be natural. He beckoned a servant over and gave him the stained cloth, taking the pitcher from the man's hands to top up the woman's goblet himself. She ducked her head and murmured a thank-you.

"It's no bother. I expect you to do the same for me, when I spill my wine during the main course!" he said, coaxing her into a real smile. "There, that's better- I can see you now! I don't like sitting next to people and not getting to know them. It's rather rude, don't you think?"

She mumbled something, and straightened her back to look him in the eye. On her other side an older man, who he guessed was her father, glanced sidelong at them and smiled approvingly.

"I'm Leto." Said Numair.

"Karenna," Her voice was deep, husky, and deliberately pitched so he had to lean closer to hear her. With a flash of amusement, Numair realised the shyness had been as much of an act as his charm. By the time the meat arrived in great trays of honey-glazed opulence, she was laughing so brightly that half the table were captivated.

And, from the other side of the room, a lone grey pair of eyes fixed on the beautiful woman, froze, and didn't look away.

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Numair thought that Daine might ask about the woman when she saw him next, but by the time the house was empty it was so late that it was a struggle to simply climb the stairs to their rooms. As soon as the hallways were dark and silent, Daine slipped into his room in the same dreamy silence she had the night before, and they fell asleep with barely a sentence passing between them. When he woke up in the morning she had already gone.

Hazelle had already claimed the young woman for her companion for the morning, and had shut herself away in the solar with strict instructions that any men who ventured into this domain would be bored to death. She had, however, left the keys to her library beside his plate, and Numair spent the hours in the stunned happiness of a scholarly man who had not lost himself in a book in years. The lunch bell shook him out of his trance, and he put the book to one side with some regret, making sure to mark his place.

Daine smiled as he came into the kitchen, and he kissed her forehead in greeting. "Hello, magelet! Are you well?"

"Oh yes," she said brightly, the words a little odd. "Lady Hazelle has been teaching me talking, and depor... deport... dee-port-men... oh! _Walking_. And what people should know." She flushed a little and ate a spoonful of soup. "I think everyone last night thought I was fair foolish. They all know so much about the world, and how to act, and all that. I had to pretend my food was chewy so that every time they asked me a question, I couldn't possibly answer them without being rude."

He laughed and thanked a servant who handed him his own bowl of soup. "That doesn't sound foolish to me."

She pulled a face at him and stirred her food. "Well, it was Lady Hazelle's idea."

"About last night..." he started, and stopped as she cut across him with an over-bright smile.

"Oh! I told her what you said, about magic lessons. And she said it's a good idea, so we can do it in the afternoons if you like. In the library. She says no-one is boring enough to want to go in there."

The man couldn't hide a smile. "You like her, don't you?"

Daine grinned at him. "She's devious and cunning and she's playing us like a deck of cards. I think she's _wonderful." _

One of the servants laughed loudly, hiding the sound in the pot she was polishing by the fire, and Daine flashed a smile their way. Numair suddenly remembered the shy, quiet creature who had cared for him in the prison. This hardly seemed like the same girl! Where before she would have shied away from the servant, thinking her laughter was mocking her, she now shared in it. She smiled and walked around with her head held high, not shrinking away inside her own skin. When the servants had healed her arm and feet they had healed something else, as well. They had given her a home, a place where she would always feel safe and respected.

It was the one thing Numair knew he would never have been able to give her, even if they had managed to flee the valley. The hawk would have followed them, and they would never have been safe. He dunked some bread into his soup thoughtfully, eyes straying to the snow that drifted peacefully past the window. He had no doubt that Hazelle's affection for the girl was genuine. There was an odd sweetness in the way she spoke to Daine, a gentleness that was bound up to the sadness that lurked in the woman's eyes. He knew from the gossip he had overheard at the banquet that the old woman was childless. Her husband had been killed after they'd been married only a few months. The grieving widow had retreated with her fortune into the mountains of Galla to mourn him.

Numair could guess the rest. Hazelle had enough money and court connections to be respectable, and carried out her spying under the guise of endless charitable acts and parties. Now that she had renounced the world, she insisted that the world come to her. She was surrounded by people all the time – servants, conspiracists, targets – but she had no family, and now she was growing tired. In a world where everyone around her demanded secrets, or money, or power, she had come across a girl who only really wanted love and safety, and those were things that the old woman had to give in plenty.

_Daine should stay here. _Numair thought suddenly, and was surprised by how violently his heart rebelled against the thought. _No, I have to leave. She won't be safe if she stays with me. But she should stay. _

With that thought, he decided not to explain to her about the Lady Karenna. He didn't want her to cling to him, not when he had nothing to offer her. He didn't want to tell her something that might make her dislike the old woman. So he finished his soup in silence, and then forced himself to smile.

"I found a book for you!" He said, and took her hand to help her to her feet. She accepted gladly, still frustrated at how difficult walking in shoes was, and they walked to the library. When he handed her the book she took it as if it were made of pure jade, turning the embossed cover over in her hands carefully.

"What is it?"

"It's for your lessons." He said, and opened the cover. "I found it this morning. It's an anatomy book. This one is birds, but the author talks about other books at the start... mammals, fish..." he frowned up at the stacks of books. For all her talk about bookish people being 'boring', Hazelle had collected a _lot _of books! "I'll try to find them tomorrow."

"No hurry." She said quietly, looking through the pictures. "I think knowing about birds might be important. And this will take me a long time to read." As if to argue with herself, she flicked from an intricate diagram of a wingspan to a crosshatched sketch of a heron, and then on to a page of eggshell markings. "This is beautiful."

He watched the odd smile which lit up her face. "Yes," he said, "Beautiful."

"Is this what we're doing today? Reading?" She asked, holding the book open at a page of kittiwakes in flight. He shook his head and gently shut the book.

"This is for you to do. It's... I can't teach you it; it's your magic that calls for it."

"Don't we have the same magic?" She looked confused. "You're a bird, I'm a wolf...?"

"Not quite." He smiled and gestured for her to sit down with him beside the fire. Instead of one of the chairs, he asked her to sit in a tailor's seat, cross legged by the warm embers. The fire, he said, wasn't important. He just hated being cold. "We're going to meditate."

She held out a hand, and he shook his head. "No, I'm not going with you this time. You have to do it on your own. We both have to learn to control our magic better!"

"I thought we had to work out what was making us..." she looked confused, and then gestured from her head to his.

"Well, we do, but there's no point until you can see what your core is supposed to be like on its own!" Seeing she still looked confused, he swept some ash from the edge of the fire and flattened it, drawing lines in the grey dust. "See, Daine, when you put this barrier in my mind, I don't know what you did. I _do _know that you couldn't get past the one that I put into your mind. You said it just... happened. And you didn't know how to make it stop, right? It just poured out of you, like water. That's not magic; you used your life force instead. That's the stuff that keeps you breathing and your heart beating."

"Is that why I slept for so long on the mountain?" She asked. He nodded, and then hesitated.

"It's why, when they told me you'd died in the prison, I almost believed them."

She paled, and looked at her hands. The soft callous from the chains still rung her wrist, and she rubbed at it fretfully. He caught her wrist without thinking and held her hand.

"Don't. That's finished. It's over."

She coloured a little, and tactfully pulled her hand out of his grasp. "They told you the same lie they told me." She said, her voice too flat to properly dismiss the pain of that memory. "And they didn't tell me why I was sick. But this meditating can fix it?"

"Hypothetically." Numair cleared his throat when she glared at him. "...means yes, sweetling."

"Good!" She smiled, and for the third time the man found himself wondering where she'd picked up the eerily over-bright expression which dared him to call her a liar. "Let's get started."

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	21. Part 3: Chapter 1

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Part 3

Chapter 1

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The days fell into the strange pattern of all peaceful times. Even though each minute passed at the same rate, the days seemed to blur together. Looking back, all Daine could see were vague memories. There were the lessons with Hazelle in the morning, where she slowly learned how to act like a noblewoman. Usually she would walk into the warm, bright solar to find Hazelle sitting alone in a large, comfortable chair, smiling a greeting. Daine liked those mornings, where she would sit at the woman's side, or at her feet, spinning silk instead of coarse wool and listening to her speak in a soft, amused voice. On those mornings it was as if she were seeing the real Lady Hazelle: a witty, warm woman who loved the silliness of life, and wanted to share it with those around her. After a few days she realised that even the woman's chatter was teaching her: when she was sat next to strangers each evening, she could follow their biting conversation more easily, and knew the right kind of things to say in response.

The mornings weren't always peaceful, though. The first time Daine walked through the door and saw the chairs pushed back against the walls she thought the house had been robbed, until she saw the lute player bowing to her.

"Don't gape, Annette. Close your mouth and come here." Hazelle held out a hand and cackled at the look of horror on the girl's face. "Yes, my dear, you're going to learn to dance like a _lady_."

The lute player strummed a chord, looked up, sighed, and carefully explained that the little lady should be curtseying to her partner. Daine started laughing. She couldn't help it, the musician looked so appalled!

"This is ridiculous!" She giggled. "Who cares if I can dance?"

Hazelle looked at her seriously, and Daine sobered when she recognised the familiar expression that said, _You have to be able to do this, because a slave wouldn't know how, and they'll be looking for it. _She was surprised, then, when the old lady didn't even hint at their serious intention, and instead said,

"Leto might care."

Daine blushed bright red almost instantly and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Ah, I thought so." Hazelle said, and her voice was unusually sympathetic. She waved a hand, and the lute player made a discrete exit. The old woman stood in silence for a moment, and then sighed and went to sit down in her usual chair, muttering under her breath about it being shoved into a corner.

"I know about everything that goes on under my roof." She said conversationally. "It would be an insult to my skills as a spy if I didn't! I know about every sniffle the kitchen maids get, so of course I know about my two most intriguing house guests sharing a bed."

"We just sleep." Daine raised her chin, defiant even as she felt her cheeks flaming. "We get nightmares if we're not together."

Hazelle blinked at her, and then her face split into an amused grin. "Dear Hag's bones, girl, but I do believe you're not lying! That's the truth, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't lie to you." Daine risked a smile and sat next to her gingerly. "There wouldn't be any point!"

"I'm not omniscient, child!" Hazelle laughed, and patted her hand. "I mean, I don't know everything. I just know the right questions to ask. Doesn't he know you're in love with him?"

Daine jumped at the suddenness of the question, and fiddled with her hair awkwardly, thinking of all the answers she could give to _that _question! "He knows... well, I told him." She stammered. "He didn't believe me. He said it would wear off, and that we shouldn't... um." If her blush got any hotter she thought she might burn up in front of Hazelle's eyes, but the woman didn't seem shocked by anything she heard. Steeling herself, she recounted everything that had happened on the mountain, and everything that had happened since, including the conversation she'd had with the hawk. The only thing she didn't tell the woman was that they had a way to speak silently to each other. She didn't like the idea of the woman using something as private as that connection for her spying. Hazelle listened in attentive silence, asking piercing questions at strange moments, and then leaned back in her chair.

"So you see," Daine finished, her mouth dry from speaking so much, "We need each other – to keep the hawk trapped in his mind, and the wolf trapped in mine, we've had to stay together. And Numair thinks that's... that's what I think love is. Comradeship and... and gratitude, I guess."

"Or he's convinced himself that that's all he feels for you." Hazelle muttered, almost to herself, stretching out one knobbled knee as if it ached. Daine bit her lip and shrugged uncomfortably. It was easier to think that Numair didn't feel anything than to wonder if he was struggling in the same way that she was.

"Well, lovelorn or not, you're still learning to dance." The lady said, with odd finality. "We've kept that poor lute player out in the corridor for long enough, I think!" She stood to ring the bell cord to summon the musician back, and then turned. For a moment her face was unsure, which made it look strangely girlish. "Did you ever actually tell him that you were in love with him? In as many words?"

"Of course..." Daine's voice trailed off, and she looked confused, "Well, no. But..."

"You might try it." Hazelle rang the bell, and straightened her shoulders. "Words have more power than you might realise, and those words most of all."

And so the dance lessons continued.

How else did the time pass? Daine thought over what Hazelle had said, but she didn't dare to even ask Numair about the noble woman he seemed besotted with, let alone say the few words that might make a difference. So they passed in a peaceful, frustrated happiness: those afternoons with Numair in the cool, quiet library, where more was left unsaid than spoken aloud.

The evenings were taken up in a whirl of bright colours and soft fabrics. There didn't seem to be a single night when the lady wasn't throwing a party, or playing cards, or settling bets between drunken friends. Daine couldn't remember being more exhausted, even when she had been a slave. There, she could let her mind wander away from the endless work. Here, she had to be constantly alert, watching faces and listening to stories, and reporting back to Hazelle in the morning. The woman was strict with her, chiding her for making mistakes or confusing names, and Daine quickly learned how to read a room without appearing to. But that meant that she had to watch everyone in the noisy gatherings... and that included the Lady Karenna.

At first she was part of a crowd of women: young butterflies in brightly coloured skirts who flitted about the room, sweeping up men in their path. They had been introduced to Daine on the second banquet, and had looked archly at her unpainted face and unobtrusive posture before making cursory platitudes in their shrill voices and speeding away. Daine wasn't sorry to see them go, although she did wonder what it would be like to be a part of that pack. In a way, they reminded her of the wolves. They had the same hunger in their eyes, the same way of circling the room, the same elegant poise. And then the crowd dispersed, and there was Karenna.

Even Daine would admit that she was a traditional Gallan beauty, all golden hair and glowing skin, wrapped in tailored dresses which showed off her sweeping curves. Curves which made other men take a step back to look at her appreciatively. She acknowledged their attention with a flash of her sky-blue eyes, lashes lowered, and then let them invite her to dance so she could show off her dainty walk, her perfect composure.

Ever since Karenna had been placed next to Numair she had reserved a special smile for him: a half-shy, half-mischievous look up through those golden lashes. Daine thought that she must have practiced the look for hours a day in her mirror, and hated the curdled feeling in her stomach when it seemed to have an effect. Numair smiled back at the lady in a way Daine had never seen before. To Daine, the smile looked empty. She couldn't read it, any more than she could work out what he saw in the other woman. He danced with her with effortless skill, showing off his years in the court of Corus. When he danced with Daine he held her carefully, as if she was fragile, and he never danced with her more than once before returning to the butterflies.

_It's so people won't talk about us. _Daine told herself, but she felt her hands curling into fists when he saw him laughing at something Karenna had said. _I bet that wasn't even funny. _

The woman said something to Numair, and he leaned his head closer to hear her over the crowd. Laughing, he shook his head and gestured to his ears, then took her arm to lead her outside. As they slipped through the crowd, Karenna looped her arm around the man's waist, and he turned that strange, empty smile on her again.

_I'm sure she really wants to talk. _Daine kicked at the floor so savagely she felt one of the tiny flowers that were sewn onto her shoes tear free.

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The next morning, Hazelle received a message as they were sitting in the solar. She opened the slip of ornate paper and read it, her eyes flicking up to Daine speculatively before she folded it and carefully tucked it into a pocket.

"You'll be staying with me this afternoon." She said stiffly, not meeting the girl's eyes. Daine couldn't stop the panic rising in her voice.

"Why – what's happened to Numair? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, but I do wish you'd remember to call him by his proper name." The lady said tersely. "Leto is receiving company this afternoon, that's all."

"Company?" Daine blanched. "It's that woman, isn't it? Karenna? She's coming here." The words sounded flat in her own ears. The afternoons were her time with Numair. She might have resented the woman before, but she didn't feel like Karenna was actually stealing her friend away from her until that moment. She stood up, dropping her spindle.

"It is the Lady Karenna, yes, and you will sit down." Hazelle's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do you want to spoil everything?"

"How can I?" She felt her eyes well up with tears, and brushed them away angrily. "All I want to do is talk to him..."

"Then you should have done that before, don't you think?" Hazelle was unrepentant, picking up the spindle and groaning at her stiff back when she straightened up. "If he's chosen not to confide in you, then it's not my place to tell you what's going on."

Daine swallowed painfully and sat down in the window seat, pressing her face against the glass so the hot tears wouldn't be seen. The tiny panes were warped and coloured, which usually made a shifting rainbow of light on the floor. With her face pressed against them the image cleared, and she could see the garden. The trees were all dead sticks poking out from the snow, but the holly that ringed the grounds was green and lush, and the morning was bright. Numair was there, and as she watched a lithe, fur-wrapped figure came up behind him and took his arm.

_I wish I could hear what they're saying. _She thought, and sat back against the cushions miserably. One of the cats that prowled the castle jumped up into her lap, pawing at her until Daine absentmindedly petted it. After a few moments her hand slowed, and the cat looked up at her inquisitively.

_- You could go down there, couldn't you? - _Daine asked slowly. The cat mewed, not deigning to use its wild voice for a moment, and then admitted that yes, it probably could. The girl pleaded with it for a moment, and finally the cat agreed to go and eavesdrop, in exchange for being brought every kind of treat imaginable from the next banquet.

It was just standing up, paws heavy, when Daine stopped it. – _Wait! – _

_-What is it __now, __human?- _The cat sniffed, trying not to sound annoyed. The girl hesitated, and reached out to stroke between the cat's ears.

- _Could I... could I try something? – _She had no idea if it would work, but after a few weeks of magic lessons she'd once accidentally found herself staring through the eyes of one of the mice that lived in the library, seeing herself sitting cross-legged on the floor. The shock had made her gasp and drag herself away almost instantly, but she knew it was possible. She explained to the cat, who shook itself to hide the fact that its fur was standing on end.

- _Doesn't scare me. – _The creature lied arrogantly. – _But if you're not quick they'll go away. –_

_- I know. – _She looked at Hazelle cautiously, and then turned in the seat so it looked like she was still staring out of the window. Closing her eyes, she began to breathe steadily. It took a horrendous amount of time. Every time she was close to finding her core, impatience jerked her out of it. The cat sat down heavily, and then yawned and started licking itself impatiently.

-_ I have more important things, human... – _It drawled, running its paw over one ear. Daine's eyes flew open and she whispered a curse- she'd been so close!

_- All the fish. – _She said desperately. –_Everything I can carry. You can have it. All of it. – _

The cat's eyes widened, but it tried to look unconcerned. _– Hurry, then! – _

A few minutes later, looking slightly dizzy, a pampered housecat padded down the kitchen steps and loped into the garden. Like a normal cat it froze and stared at anything that moved, but unlike any others of its species it ignored the birds and rodent trails, and darted down the path with an odd sense of purpose.

Two humans were sitting in the garden, on one of the stone benches that were scattered around the paths. The cat shuddered at the thought of sitting on that cold stone, but the human creatures were wrapped up in furs, and didn't seem to notice the snow soaking through their boots. As the cat padded closer another voice whispered in its head, and its ears flattened. _Don't go closer, they'll see us! Hide so we can listen. _

The cat yawned and stretched for a moment, deliberately slow before it slinked into the bushes. A drop of melting ice dripped onto its nose, and it mewed in annoyance. The voice in its head hushed it.

"It's so good to be alone." The female was saying, her voice too shrill for her age. The male smiled in reply, but didn't say anything. The woman seemed uncomfortable with the silence, and rushed to fill the lull in conversation: "My house is always so full of people, you have no idea! A bit of peace and quiet is a blessing straight from the Mother Goddess."

"You surprise me! I would have thought you would have some escape route... some little hideaway." The man sounded teasing, and the woman trilled a laugh in reply.

"Even my private chambers aren't safe," she confided, dropping her voice as if someone could overhear. "So many servants hurrying around – listening in – it really is unbearable!"

"You seem to have overcome it remarkably well," he smiled, and gestured to her face. "Look, not one worry line, nor a single grey hair!"

She pushed her lower lip out sulkily, but her voice was breathy. "I do believe you're mocking me."

"Me?" He raised a hand to his heart, hurt, and then winked. "I don't think I'd dare. Your father might send his army of servants after me."

"Oh, he doesn't have an army." She said dismissively. "They're just mages." She giggled and raised a hand to her mouth, resting manicured nails against her lips instead of actually covering her mouth. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that! But you'll find all this out anyway, won't you?"

"All of this?" He raised an eyebrow. "Nefarious secrets and skeletons in your dungeons, is that it?"

She opened her mouth to retort, and then blushed and looked away. For the first time, her voice sounded uncertain. "Can we talk about something else? My father will be angry with me."

"But, if it's troubling you..." he started, and leaned in closer to touch the side of her face gently. "If it's upsetting you, I want to know. I don't want anything to hurt you, even if it's just a few words that are screaming in your mind."

She smiled wanly, and leaned closer. "Do you really mean that?" She murmured, catching his hand in her own talon-like fingers. He smiled oddly but didn't answer. Then there was a yowl, a hiss and the sound of breaking twigs, and a cat leapt out of the shrubbery into the clearing as if it were being chased by the Hag's pet rats. The two humans flinched away from each other, watching the possessed cat with wide eyes as it pawed at its ears in agony, rolling around in the snow as if it was on fire. Then, with another yowl, it sped off towards the stables.

Numair stared after the animal, his confusion turning into dawning suspicion as it again stopped and clawed at its own ears. _It's hearing something it shouldn't. _He thought, and knew there was only one person who could do that. As if to answer him, a voice shouted down the garden. It was the Lady Hazelle, and her normally steady voice was panicked.

"Leto! Come quickly, it's Annette! She's not moving!"


	22. Part 3: Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! Nice to know I'm killing _more _of you with my cliffhangers… mwahahaha! Hopefully you'll revive sufficiently to read this update and let me know what you think!

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Chapter 2

The words stayed with her. They hurt too much to ignore, even when the rest of the world faded away and the creature known as Daine faded with it. She drifted, taking on the thoughts and feelings of the cat even as her ears stayed to listen, hearing every breath the humans took, and every cursed word that went with them.

It was a curse, but she turned to embrace it. She couldn't escape. The words kept her tied to her mortal shell. They kept some part of her human. But, the more she heard, the less she wanted to stay in this poisonous world. It was unfair, and unkind, and then it simply became unrecognisable. Why should she care about the silly humans when there were birds to hunt, and territories to prowl?

And then she glanced up, through the cat's eyes, and she saw the humans lean towards each other, and some part of her _screamed. _

The cat yowled back at her, hurt by the sudden violence of emotion which shrilled in their ears, but she couldn't stop it. The feral voice screamed inside her, more catlike than human. It was the only part of her that was still Daine, and it demanded to be heard. She clung to it, knowing that if she let go of the pain for a single second she would lose herself, and not know how to come back.

The cat sprang along the path, clawing at its head to force her out, and she lurched from its mind on clumsy paws. A shade, no more physical than a glimmer of bronze sunlight, she padded through the snow and screamed at the white winter sky. A ghost, or a demon, or a child lost in the snow. She was nothing, and everything, and every creature in the garden screamed back at her in agony.

Then...

Searing pain flooded through her, and with it her body returned. Her mind was dragged back into her shell so quickly that she retched, blindly fighting against whatever had hurt her, blinking bronze flares from her eyes and gasping.

"Daine!" The voice was familiar, but she couldn't name it. It was human, she knew that. A man. Her cheek stung. She remembered that she was supposed to have a face. She realised that he must have slapped her. She wrenched her eyes open and glared blindly forward, her vision filled with copper sparks and black fire. She raised her hands so he couldn't strike her again. To her shock, the voice sounded almost as terrified as she felt. "You're awake! Oh, thank the gods, I thought I'd never find you!"

She gasped in a breath and remembered his name, dragging herself away and retching again at the movement. He caught her wrists and stopped her from moving, holding her still until her shudders faded slightly and she could see again. For all his care, for all his tenderness, she could feel the anger running through every muscle of his body. In her half-feral state it was the only thing she could understand, and she shrank from it. It was only a few minutes later when his fury finally burst out.

"Look!" He grabbed her wrist and held her hand in front of her eyes, letting her take in the elongated claws and fused pads before he shook her and let go. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I..." She gasped, confused, her eyes still unfocused as she scrambled for an answer. He cursed and took hold of her chin. His anger was eclipsed by helpless panic as he desperately thought of what to do. He could see her mind slipping away. She dragged away from him and struck out with half-formed claws, struggling and whimpering when he grabbed her wrists.

"No, no... don't..." He pleaded. She shut her eyes, the lids shimmering into feline orbs, and made a sound that was halfway between a sob and a hiss. "_No_, no Daine, you can't. Please come back. Please, sweetheart, look at me." He whispered frantically. "Look!" she raised eyes that held catlike, coppery irises, and met his gaze unsteadily, hardly recognising the human that sat beside her. He smiled shakily and took hold of her hand, knowing that the last thing he should do was scare her.

"Look at me." He whispered, "Just at me, nowhere else. Don't think about anything else. You're safe. You're safe, and no-one is going to hurt you, and I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I'll help you. Look at me. Remember who you are. You're Daine, remember? You were born in Galla, and we met in a prison cell, and you saved my life, and... and you... you don't like the taste of mutton or feeling cold, and you have brown hair and beautiful shining eyes... " He kept speaking, a long meaningless string of words that stopped her mind from flying away, kept her rooted in her own skin and locked in his black eyes. Each word made her remember a little, and each memory made her feel more like herself again, as if she were a broken puzzle that he had to put together.

Another memory surfaced when he brushed her cheek with his hand. His touch was infinitely tender, and the memory swelled into an emotion so strong it made her heart skip a beat. She knew what the human girl would do. It was the first thought that seemed to truly fit in her mind. So she did it, leaning forward and kissing him with slow, loving curiosity. The memories flooded back as soft warmth grew in her stomach; his hand felt like velvet brushing against her skin, and when she touched him and each fingertip tingled in odd heat she finally remembered what it was to be herself.

Numair's fingers tightened around her wrist, and she drew away with a sudden feeling of embarrassment. To her surprise he was smiling: a hesitant, worried expression, but one that glowed with relief when she met his eyes and her shaking lessened. She shut her eyes cautiously, and when she refocused on him they were sea-grey again. "Well done." He said with the same relief obvious in his voice. He stroked a strand of hair away from her eyes, and however guarded his expression, his eyes couldn't hide the fear that he'd felt. "That... that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

She blinked, and looked at her hands. They were human again, pink and delicate, and she remembered that she wasn't really a cat. It had been the madness. The madness that she thought she'd left behind her in the prison had come back, and she had let herself be lured into it like a stupid child. She shivered and drew her knees up to her chin, feeling ashamed of herself and, suddenly, violently ill.

"I'm sorry," he said, seeing her whiten. "The barrier broke down in your mind, and I had to... your mind fought me when I tried to fix it." Now that Daine could see properly she realised that he was white too – not just the pale fear that had been so obvious in his voice, but a tired translucency that came from using too much magic. He stroked her hair, and his hand was cold. "I'm sorry. I knew it would hurt you but I couldn't think of any other way, and every second that I waited..." he shivered and leaned back against the window, still holding her closely.

"I thought I was too late. I thought I was going to lose you." He said.

Daine shut her eyes and concentrated on his cool hand on her aching head. She wasn't sure she'd wanted to be found, and the thought scared her, because she couldn't quite remember _why_.

"What were you doing?" Numair started asking, and then stopped when the door of the solar crashed open.

"No, I don't _care _if you don't want me in here. There's _clearly _a problem, and _obviously _you might need all the help you can get..." The bright, breathy voice carried a woman in with it, and Karenna swept into the solar as if she owned it. She took in the scene in an instant and a false smile attached itself to her face. Hazelle trailed in behind her with equally curious eyes, but her expression was thunderous when she looked at the woman.

"Oh, Leto, you had me so _worried!" _She breathed, fluttering over to the window in a rustle of yellow silk. Numair glanced at Daine, and then the worry evaporated from his face and the empty smile was back.

"Karenna, my dear." He said brightly. "I did ask you to wait."

"As did I." Muttered Hazelle, looking rather frazzled.

"Well, pardon me for wanting to help after you keep me waiting for an _hour_." Karenna looked a little put out. "What happened?"

"My niece was taken suddenly ill." Hazelle said stiffly, not looking at anyone in particular. "But she's a little better now, it seems. Is that right, Leto?"

Numair nodded, unable to stop a relieved smile passing between himself and the old woman. Some of the tension breathed out from the air. Hazelle found her chair and sank into it with a barely audible sigh, running a hand through her hair and mouthing a few prayerful words skywards. Karenna swooped in on Daine. The girl shrank away, but she felt the woman's nails brush her cheek like talons. "You poor dear! Well, you look well enough now. Perhaps you should just go to bed and stop bothering your cousin, hmm?"

"She's not bothering anyone." Numair tried to make the words sound like a joke, but they came out sounding clipped and dangerous, and Karenna drew back sharply.

"You shouldn't pander to her. If she's ill she should be in bed, and if not she should stop attention seeking and leave you alone. I've seen her staring after you with those huge doe-eyes every night. I've seen the way she follows you around when she thinks no-one's looking. It's pathetic. She just wants attention. I can't believe you're encouraging her!"

Numair went white. "What makes it any of your concern, mistress Karenna?" he asked coldly. The woman took a step back, realising she'd said too much, and as if someone had blown out a candle the anger was suddenly gone from her face. The smile returned.

"I'm just looking out for you, dearest. I wouldn't want you to be burdened with someone else's problems."

"Annette will _never_ be a burden." His voice was sharp, and Daine flinched. Her head was starting to pound horribly. She rested it against Numair's shoulder, but when his arm tightened around her she suddenly remembered how he'd been speaking to Karenna in the garden, and felt dizzy rather than comforted.

"Leto and Annette grew up in the same household." Hazelle cut in quickly, her eyes seeking out Numair's with a definite warning even as she invented an explanation. "He's always had a bit of a soft spot for the ladies, has our Leto. You must have noticed, eh Karenna? How he's always so chivalrous and attentive? Well, we've always said in our family that he gets it from looking out for Annette! Always getting into mischief when she was a child. Weren't you, my dear?"

She glared at Daine until the girl nodded, mutely. Hazelle smiled, and her voice became jovial. "Come come now, let's all be friends again. We're all a little shaken up, I think! Karenna is perfectly correct, Leto: Annette should be in bed. And I think you both need to apologise to each other. I won't have raised voices in my home!"

Numair still looked angry, but the fake smile grew on Karenna's face in an instant, and she kissed the man's cheek cheerfully. Her lipstick made a red mark. "There, are we friends again?"

He smiled, but there was little warmth in it. Karenna didn't seem to notice. She tilted her face to one side, and sighed happily when he brushed her cheek with his lips.

"Good." Hazelle said, and rang the bell. "Now let's have no more of this silliness."

The servant carried her to her own room, taking her out of Numair's arms tactfully enough that he couldn't object, although Hazelle still had to warn him with a glare not to say anything. Karenna was still there, her eyes sharp after their fight. Her chatter was empty enough, filling the silence after they'd apologised, and Daine could hear the echoes of her high-pitched voice even when the servant had climbed a flight of stairs.

She couldn't sleep, no matter how much her head hurt. The servant pulled the thick curtains shut but left a small triangle open at the top, and Daine stared at the beam of grey light. She felt... trapped. Trapped inside her own head. And as memories of being human returned, so did memories of the madness. She remembered the last time she had returned to herself, in the jail cell. There the beam of light had been square, sliced into four by the bars which ran across it, and the light had been the sickly yellow of cheap candles. The cell had smelled of sour air and smoke, and she remembered it now that she could smell the lingering muskiness of Karenna's perfume.

Were they happy together? She couldn't imagine it, but the things they'd said to each other... now she could think about them as a human, not as a cat, she blushed. They weren't the sort of words you were supposed to overhear. Numair was probably angry with her. They were friends, but it didn't mean she should pry into his life like a jealous fool. He was trying to make a life outside of what they shared together. Why did she begrudge him that? If anything, she should be happy for him! Hadn't his life been as difficult as her own? If he could move away from it, then of course he would. And, Daine told herself, Karenna was very pretty, and friendly, and perhaps when she wasn't feeling neglected she was a nice person.

She turned onto her side and curled up, cuddling a pillow. Her headache had faded to a dull pain behind her eyes, and when she shut them it disappeared altogether. She lay with her eyes closed, resolving that when she woke up she would try to be nicer to Karenna. She fell asleep thinking that, and drifted into black, shapeless nightmares.

The door clicked open, and she opened heavy eyes to see that the sun had set, and the triangle of light had disappeared. The maids who had drifted in to build up the fire through the afternoon were almost eerily silent, so she knew this must be someone else. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, hearing the cheerful sounds of the banquet downstairs when the door opened wider.

"I thought you might be hungry." Numair said, setting down a tray awkwardly and turning to close the door. His voice was a little over-solicitous. "If you weren't asleep, that is."

"I was, but I am hungry." Daine answered, taking the tray and thanking him. To her relief the food was simple, although it still made her stomach turn. She picked at the bread and sighed, pushing the cup of soup further away. "Well, I thought I was."

"You'll feel better tomorrow." He hesitated, and sat on the edge of the bed. "Daine, why were you spying on me?"

She shredded the bread between her nails. "I wasn't."

"You were that cat." He persisted. "I know it was you."

"No, it was the _cat_. Just a cat. Nothing magical, nothing... sinister. Just a grumpy, arrogant cat. He let me see through his eyes." She gave up on the bread and started dropping the crumbs into the soup. "I wanted to see if I could do it, so I tried."

He was silent for a long time, absently tracing the design of her bedspread with one finger. "I wouldn't let Hazelle know that's what you were doing." He said finally, not looking at the girl. "She would try to use it. I'm sure you could spy on anyone, if you found the right animal to help you, couldn't you? You could hear anything."

"Like what?" She asked, pushing him to actually say what he was hinting at. He shrugged, still awkward, and then looked at her for the first time. To her surprise, his eyes held the same calculated blankness they'd had when he'd spoken to Karenna, and his words were flat.

"You'd... no, your cat, right? Either way, one of you might overhear things you don't understand."

"I didn't hear anything." She insisted stubbornly.

He stood up, and she couldn't see his face in the shadows. His voice was sharp. "Why are you lying to me? I know exactly what you were doing. I know what you were trying to find out. I don't know why you didn't just _ask _me. Don't you know I would have told you everything? Everything, Daine. All you ever had to do was ask."

She stared at him, and was suddenly bitter that he could see her expression while she was blind to his. How could she explain to him that finding the words to ask was an impossible task? The thought of his answers terrified her. But he couldn't see that. He gave his pain words, and they were poisonous.

"You clearly don't trust me enough to believe my answers. Instead, you chose to spy on me. Perhaps that's Hazelle's doing, but it was a low move. It's beneath you, Daine, and so is lying about it. I thought you were better than that. Perhaps I was wrong."

"Shouldn't you get back to the banquet?" She asked, her voice cold. His words burned her, and she couldn't hear the raw pain in them, just the accusation. "Your friends will be missing you. Go and yell at _them_. No-one gave you the right to yell at _me_."

"I left early." He said, "because I was tired. I spent all my magic healing you, remember?" he started to leave, feeling sick at making the cheap shot that had made Daine whiten, but his anger was too fierce to stop him from turning back and saying, "I won't do it again. If you ever, _ever _do that again, you're on your own."

"Who _asked_ you to help me?" She yelled back, but her words were answered with just the click of the door closing behind him. Half furious, half deeply ashamed, she threw a pillow at the door and buried herself under the quilt.

888


End file.
